


City of Angels

by soulfulsin



Series: Night of the Hunter [7]
Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-01-02 03:22:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 40,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21154787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulfulsin/pseuds/soulfulsin
Summary: AU of an AU. Part of the A Modern Myth series, so Webby is twelve. Following most of the season 2 plotline, this is split with Webby learning to trust again after growing up in FOWL...and discovering she has a half-sibling that wants to bring her back into the fold.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty sure no one is going to read this. I'm writing this partly as a way to let off steam. If I don't get any feedback, I'll probably abandon it, though. I'm kinda just writing whatever to deal with irl issues.

It was two months since Lena’s death and Webby was still not over it. Lena had been the first girl she’d trusted and she didn’t know how to deal with her death and the events surrounding it. Therefore, seeing as no one prohibited her from taking books out of the library, she’d buried herself in books in a quest to discover more about magical shadows. Unfortunately, the Duckburg Public Library was sadly lacking in books about real magic. It had fantasy by the plenty, but nothing about the shadow realm or magical shadows.

She didn’t know what facade to present to the others. She didn’t know who she was anymore and that was becoming a real problem. She wasn’t the same girl that had left FOWL. However, she also wasn’t the same Webbigail Vanderquack that Steelbeak had abducted. It troubled her.

Reluctantly, she was opening up to her therapist a little. It was nowhere near the progress her mother and grandmother wanted, but trust was difficult for Webby, even after spending months at McDuck Manor. Right now, Webby sat on the couch next to Dewey while the whole family watched TV. Dewey had his arm about her shoulders and she snuggled closer to him. She wished she could reconcile all of these strange feelings and sensations. She hadn’t dared mention it to anyone, for fear it’d make her weak. 

No one thought that way here, but Webby was afraid of losing her edge. An even larger part of her was aware that she didn’t need that edge anymore. That she might be able to just exist as herself and the others would accept her. 

“Hey, you okay?” Dewey asked her.

“Fine,” she replied automatically. Then she frowned, twisting her friendship bracelet about her wrist. 

“Why do you still wear that thing? Lena’s…” Dewey faltered. Webby never said her name and it was like it was verboten. Webby also never let anyone see her cry if she could help it. The nightmares were receding about her time in FOWL, replaced by her nightmares of losing Dewey and Lena, not to mention Huey and Louie. 

Her chest tightened. Dewey’s casual concern was increasing her anxiety and she didn’t know why. Pushing away from him, she sprang to her feet.

“Webby?” Dewey asked quizzically. “Was it something I said?”

“I don’t want to talk about her,” she said. She still wouldn’t say the name. “I’m gonna go...there was something I had to do…”

“Talk to us,” Huey said, sitting upright. He’d been surfing his phone. Beside him, Louie had continued to do so, only occasionally looking up to watch Ottoman Empire. Webby knew Louie well enough to tell he was engrossed in a scheme and didn’t want to interrupt it for anything. Still, she knew he was making a mental note of everything.

“It’s okay to be upset,” Dewey soothed. He tugged her back toward the couch. Maybe a meeker Webby would’ve accepted it, but she wasn’t meek. She growled at him and reached for the knives she was no longer permitted to wear that was ensconced in the Other Bin. She still hadn’t figured out where, because she hadn’t discerned the door coding. Plus, she sensed that even if she found the door, it would be locked.

“No, it’s not,” she snarled and Louie looked up. 

“Webs,” he said. “Chill.”

“I don’t want to talk about her, okay?” Webby growled.

“Hey, man, we get it,” Louie said. “Just don’t get all scary on us.”

“I’m leaving,” she announced. Pushing Dewey away, she stormed off toward her room. Halfway there, she realized she was crying. By reflex, she glanced up to see whether the security cameras were monitoring it before remembering that she didn’t have to worry about them anymore. 

Once she reached her room, she closed and locked the door. Her chest remained constricted and she threw herself onto her bed. As she had grown to do when she was stressed, she rubbed her fingers along the friendship bracelet. Steelbeak would never have let her keep such a thing. He’d have thought it maudlin and childish. She hadn’t been allowed to be a child.

Dewey knocked at the door. She knew it was him because she knew his pattern compared to his brothers. However, she hadn’t the slightest inclination to lift her head, much less propel herself downstairs and unlock the door. He could speak to her through the door if he so desired. She didn’t care.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I upset you,” he called. “I just wanted to talk.”

“It’s not healthy not to talk about your grief,” Huey added. “You can’t keep it all bottled up.”

“It won’t hurt anyone that way,” she huffed, uncertain whether they could hear her.

“It’ll hurt _you_,” Huey argued.

Webby spun the friendship bracelet around her wrist. It was slightly warm to the touch as if sending her love from beyond the grave. Tears pricked her eyes again and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. No one ever left anyone alone in this house. They all cared and wanted to be a family. What if Webby wasn’t entirely ready for that? What if she was afraid to let anyone else in that far?

“C’mon, come down and talk to us,” Dewey cajoled.

Webby sighed. 

“We won’t go away until you talk to us,” Huey added. 

“Where’s Louie?” she called, turning her head so her words weren’t muffled by the pillow.

“Here,” Louie answered. “I told you this was a bad idea.”

“Do you trust us?” Dewey asked. Webby’s heart pounded and, reluctantly, she climbed down the stairs and unlocked the door. She wanted to fling herself at Dewey but held back. 

“Yes,” she whispered. “I trust you.”

“Then let us in,” Dewey said and, with misgivings, she stood aside to admit the triplets. He’d gotten her there. She trusted the triplets more than she trusted her biological family, though she’d been making strides there too. She just hoped there were no nasty surprises looming on the horizon.

“There. Is that what you want?” she asked, miserable. She was twisting the friendship bracelet about her wrist and biting the inside of her lip. No one here was judging her for wanting to cry. The triplets wanted to help. She could trust them. She knew she could. It was so hard to let her walls down. She’d been on guard for far too long and now she had nothing to guard against.

“You have to talk about her,” Huey said gently. “You can’t bottle it all up. It’s hurting you.”

She sighed and hugged herself. The triplets moved forward as one and hugged her. Throat tight, she relented slightly. It probably wouldn’t be as much as they wanted, but it was all she was capable of right now.

“I don’t know how I feel about her,” she admitted. “She gave her life to help us, to save _me_, but she was still Magica’s puppet. Then again...in hindsight, I was being used the same way.”

Tears pricked her eyes.

“But she made the right decision and so did you,” Huey murmured. 

“And now both Steelbeak and Magica are MIA,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t want to talk to either of them or even see them, but...it’s not fair that Lena’s…”

She couldn’t complete the sentence. Instead, she let it trail off, hoping that someone else would know what she was trying to say. Lena’s name had stuck in her throat.

“It’s not fair that we don’t have a mom, either,” Louie said. “Life’s not fair, Webs.”

She swallowed past the lump in her throat.

“You’re right,” she said. “I just don’t want to talk about it. It’s too painful.”

“But if you don’t talk about it, it’ll just keep hurting,” Dewey said. He cupped her cheek. “Like Huey said, bottling up is only going to make things worse.”

She balled her fists and then relaxed them. “I’m not used to opening up. You know that.”

“But you know that we’re going to be there for you, no matter what,” Huey said. “When you’re ready to talk, you know where to find us.”

Throat still tight, she nodded again. It took a minute for her throat to unstick long enough to say, “Thanks, you guys.”

“Wanna go back and watch TV with us?” Dewey asked and she shook her head. 

“I’d rather be alone for a little while,” she said. Privacy had been something she couldn’t obtain in FOWL and she’d learned to cherish it here, for all that it sometimes felt like an illusion because her grandmother had the keys to her room. Come to think of it, her mother did too. She hadn’t seen her mother in a couple of days, but, unlike Granny, she was still an active SHUSH agent.

The boys reluctantly left her and she returned to her room and bed. This time, she didn’t lock the door, even if she did close it; she went back to lying on her stomach on her mattress with her head on the pillows.

“I wish you were still here,” she said. “You understood better than they did.”

She twisted the friendship bracelet around her wrist again. “I miss you so much.”

All of those weird, cryptic remarks Lena had said made sense now, horrible sense. In a way, Lena was trapped by expectations or had been. Even now, Webby had a hard time believing she was gone. She was the first person she’d gotten close to that she’d lost. If something happened to the triplets, she didn’t know what she’d do. Especially if she lost Dewey.

That didn’t mean she wanted company right now. It was enough to know they were here if she needed them. Clenching her eyes shut, she willed herself to think of nothing, but, as usual, her overactive mind refused to let her rest. And, as usual, she was unaware of a storm brewing elsewhere. 

It wouldn’t have made her feel any better, anyway. Perhaps, for the time being, it was best that she remained ignorant.

* * *

Lysander had finally arrived in Duckburg. It had taken him years to track down where Agent 22 lived; even after her cover had been blown, she proved elusive. Now that he knew that Webbigail was there too, it sweetened the pot. At present, he stood at the docks and stared up at McDuck Manor, looming in the distance. It looked like a fortress from here. It probably was.

Lysander moved out of the way before he got shoved out. Growing up, he had remained secluded, like Webby, and, like Webby, he had grown up not knowing both of his parents. Unlike Webby, however, he’d known _of _his father, not knowing who he was. He still had no idea who his mother was. He’d been raised by relatives, or so they claimed, though they didn’t treat him like he was blood, rather filth they’d discovered beneath their shoes one day and couldn’t scrape off.

Lysander had another thing in common with Webby and it was the reason for his trip, beyond Agent 22. Like Webby, his father was Steelbeak.

However, Steelbeak hadn’t known of his existence. He’d spent his life tracking down Wren because he’d known Wren had had a viable egg after his liaison with her. He hadn’t known the same thing of Lysander’s mother. For years, Lysander had imagined who his mother might be, coming up with ideas that he subsequently rejected.

For example, it couldn’t be Black Heron, because chickens and herons couldn’t mate. Well, they could, theoretically, if they were Chickens and Herons, but they couldn’t produce a viable egg. Besides, he had the sense that if Black Heron had ever conceived a child, she would have killed it on sight. She wouldn’t have left it alone long enough to survive to be twelve years old.

Gandra Dee was a new recruit, so it couldn’t be her. Being Ammonia Pine’s son was repugnant, so even if it was possible, he rejected it out of principle. 

Not having grown up in the thick of FOWL the way Webby did, he didn’t know that many agents. His aunt and uncle refused to give him even a hint of who his mother might be. Instead, they harped on who his father was and what he owed him. It was his job to seek his father out and assert his position. If Webby didn’t want to be his heir, then Lysander could fill in. That was if Steelbeak trusted anyone beyond Webby. He worried about that.

Worse, he only had his relatives’ word that he was Steelbeak’s get. He didn’t resemble Steelbeak at all, being scrawny and all limbs. Steelbeak might not accept the claim. Therefore, he needed to strengthen his position. Capturing Agent 22 and Webby ought to get his attention.

Maybe he needn’t capture Webby. Maybe he could convince Webby to join him. After all, Webby _was _FOWL, whether she wanted to admit it or not. If Agent 22 and the others hadn’t poisoned her against FOWL. FOWL was her destiny.

He could be Magica de Spell’s son, he supposed. Steelbeak had a history of rendezvousing with ducks and depending on Magica’s mood, she might have left the egg laying around where anyone could pick it up. She didn’t seem as ruthless about children as Black Heron, but he also hadn’t seen the Shadow War in person.

With nothing but the clothes on his back, Lysander set off toward Duckburg’s metropolis. Perhaps he’d have a better idea how to siege McDuck Manor once he was further in. Or perhaps he didn’t need to do that. Maybe all he had to do was to disguise himself as a street urchin and someone would take pity on him. Scrooge McDuck was known to have a weakness for children.

Then again, that was his children that were related to him. Lysander had no ties to him, not even weakly such as Webby had. Hmm. He’d ingratiate himself with Webby if that was possible. If she wasn’t too distrustful, which she ought to be as a FOWL agent in training.

He liked the idea that he might be Magica de Spell’s son. For one thing, it meant that he had latent magical abilities he had yet to harness. For another, at least it’d give him a better idea of who his family was. He knew his mother wasn’t Wren Beakley—he was roughly Webby’s age, for one thing. For another, Wren would’ve claimed him, as she had Webby.

He wasn’t jealous, he told himself. Simply reciting facts.

Now, where did children like him go on a dreary Sunday afternoon? To the arcade, perhaps? He’d heard of such things, even if he’d never been to one. They were a dying art. Still, that was probably his best bet and the only child-friendly place he could find was Funzo’s...although the idea of going there filled him with existential dread. It wasn’t enough that he looked like a child and occasionally behaved like one, but now he had to be treated like one as well?

Preparing himself for an unpleasant experience, he walked into Funzo’s. 

Children scampered and played. It left a sour taste in his mouth. He’d left those carefree days far behind him. Instead, he seated himself in the eating area and watched. His targets weren’t here, but he hadn’t thought they would be. He needed more information.

Lysander scrubbed at his face. His scraggly red hair flew every which way. It was impossible to get it to stay in line. It was a mess, like his life. If he’d had more experience being exposed to children his own age, he might be able to approach one and ask. At the moment, they appeared as untouchable as the moon. 

\--------  
  
Della Duck was flying back to Duckburg, come hell or high water. She wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of seeing her babies. She’d been separated from them for far too long. 

“Hold on, boys,” she said as she pushed the _Spear of Selene _into full throttle. “Mom’s coming home!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the “Friendship Hates Magic” rehash, but it had to be done to bring Lena back. I changed things up a little, barring the verbatim quotes. I also dropped the Launchpad/Beakley plotline, because I didn’t see it as relevant here. 
> 
> I like the idea that Webby isn’t so quick to trust Violet. That’s how she differs from canon Webby. People really have to prove themselves to her.
> 
> The triplets will probably be in the next snippet. Della’s coming back soon, after all. And I want Webby to feel resentful toward her because she’s taking away the triplets.

Webby returned yet another useless book to the library and headed for the reference desk to ask the librarian on duty about books regarding the shadow realm. Except, she didn’t phrase it quite like that. She asked for non-fiction occult books and hoped she wasn’t being too obvious. Mrs. Quackfaster scowled and directed her toward “another odd little girl” sitting at the table and paging through an ancient Sumerian tome. 

Webby suppressed a sigh and headed over there. Other than the triplets and Lena, she had no experience with other children. She hadn’t seen Gosalyn in months and anyway, that had been a chance encounter. She didn’t always know how to purport herself around kids, despite being one. Or perhaps it was _because _she was one.

Webby waited until the girl had finished reading a page and then spoke only to be interrupted. Irritated, Webby felt her friendship bracelet warm against her wrist, which Webby liked to pretend meant Lena was either sharing her emotions or trying to comfort her. It was a meaningless imagining, yet it brought her comfort, regardless.

Finally, the other girl closed the book.

“May I help you?” she queried. 

“That book may be a bit advanced for you,” Webby said, leaning forward to grab the tome away. “As it’s written in ancient Sumerian.”

The girl responded in ancient Sumerian and Webby refrained from rolling her eyes. Excitement crept up on her. This was someone who had a similar upbringing, perhaps. She wasn’t alone. Webby leaned forward.

“My name is Violet Sabrewing,” Violet said. “And you are?”

“Webby.”

“The same Webbigail Vanderquack who is the daughter of Steelbeak? Who was part of a FOWL operation until recently?” Violet queried. 

Like that, Webby’s excitement dampened. Her eyes narrowed and she caught herself reaching for her knives. Man, she missed them. She understood why she wasn’t allowed to walk about with them, but that didn’t stop her from longing for their cold comfort at a time like this.

“Yes.” There was no point in denying it. Violet’s eyes widened, perhaps sensing she’d stepped on a landmine. 

“Perhaps we should review this book together, at your house,” Violet said. “I will be there at six and should our studying taking longer, I will prepare to spend the night.”

A sleepover? Was that what Violet was proposing? All of Webby’s previous sleepovers hadn’t ended well, but then again, that hadn’t been hers or Lena’s fault. But she didn’t know what to do. This was moving too fast. She didn’t know how to handle herself around another kid, particularly someone as pushy as Violet, who had essentially invited herself over to McDuck Manor.

Still, she had a strange kinship with the girl. She could feel it. It was the same impulse that had led her to rescue the boys. Her heart raced. She’d need to prepare.

* * *

  
  
It was also Binventory Day, which meant that the boys were out with Uncle Scrooge doing Louie’s least favorite activity--organizing. As a result, Webby, Mrs. Beakley, and Launchpad were alone in the house. Lena walked around behind Webby, though she didn’t need to walk--she could float if she chose. However, floating highlighted her being dead. It wasn’t like she needed any more reminders. 

Webby was nervous. She didn’t cope well with other children and the last time she’d been out in public with a large number of them, she’d broken Dewey’s wrist. Lena could practically feel the anxiety radiating off her best friend and put a hand on her shoulder, but of course, Webby couldn’t feel it. Reluctantly, Lena stepped back. Any comfort she could offer Webby would be cold comfort indeed.

While Webby rushed around trying to conceal any hints of her past, which wouldn’t have been visible anyway, she crept toward the Other Bin, where Mrs. Beakley had stashed her knives. Lena rolled her eyes.

“Pink, if you need weapons for a sleepover, you’ve already lost.”

To her credit, it had been a year since she’d arrived at McDuck Manor and most of the time, she didn’t even notice that her knives were missing. It was just when she was extremely stressed, as she was now, that she reached for them. They were like a security blanket. Lena understood, even if it perturbed her. She hadn’t forgotten how close Webby had been to hurting her at their first encounter.

“I don’t need them,” Webby told herself. “She’s not threatening me. She’s just a normal kid. Okay, maybe not a _normal _kid, but she’s not a FOWl operative in disguise. She’s not going to attack me. Normal kids don’t walk around with knives. Granny and Mom have been over this with me.”

She forced herself to breathe, clenching and relaxing her fists. “I don’t need them. I’m not in FOWL anymore.”

Slowly, Webby relaxed. “I’m not in FOWL anymore.”

“No, sweetie, you’re not,” Wren said, coming up behind her daughter. “What’s this about a sleepover?”

“Oh,” Webby said and blushed. Lena didn’t know when Wren had come in, but she had a standing invitation to McDuck Manor. Then again, Lena didn’t like to wander too far away, in case she missed something. She hadn’t missed a lot and there wasn’t anything she could’ve done even when she’d been there, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Yeah...she kinda invited herself over,” Webby admitted, sheepish. 

Lena scoffed. She wasn’t impressed with Violet and not just because she’d pried into Webby’s past. Lena was suspicious of anyone attempting closeness with Webby. She didn’t want to see her best friend hurt again. Moreover, she’d suffered enough. If Violet broke Webby’s heart...Lena would swear everlasting vengeance. There wasn’t much else she could do, sadly. 

She’d grown used to the idea she’d never have a body again. That she’d subsist as lower than a ghost because Duckworth couldn’t see her and no one else could either. It was almost peaceful to be in the shadow realm without Magica harping on her constantly.

“I’m excited for you, though. You haven’t had much luck with your sleepovers, but I’m sure that’s about to change,” Wren said and Webby smiled, but Lena could sense the hesitation there. So could Wren.

“Hey,” Wren said softly. “Hey. You deserve this. You deserve to be happy. You need friends too, people you can trust. You can’t keep everything in.”

Webby bit the inside of her cheek.

“I know it’s hard. I know you’ve been a mess since you lost her.”

Like Webby, Wren seemed determined not to say Lena’s name. Lena rolled her eyes. It was like her name had become a curse that would afflict someone by its mere utterance. It also made her feel like Voldemort. She wasn’t evil, jeez. She folded her arms across her chest.

“I’m insulted,” Lena said, though why she bothered, she didn’t know. “I’m right here. You just can’t see me.”

Naturally, Wren and Webby continued as if they couldn’t hear her, which they couldn’t. Lena groaned.

“I’ve been fine,” Webby said, clearly tempted to keep her guard up. Vestiges of her life in FOWL still showed in her demeanor and defensiveness. Lena’s heart lurched. She felt wretched all over again for betraying her, even if she’d made it all right in the end by sacrificing herself for her.

“Webby.”

“I have!” 

“You just tried to break into the Other Bin to grab your knives,” Wren said flatly. “You’re not all right.”

Her daughter huffed, puffing out her bangs. Lena had the absurd urge to smooth them back. Something about Webby always provoked her protective instincts. It was the equivalent of “must protect the cinnamon roll”, although she knew that Webby was far from defenseless. Lena gnawed the inside of her cheek, which was a strange sensation as she technically had no physical form and was, therefore, chewing on air.

Webby dropped her voice. “I’m not normal. She’s going to see that.”

“And so what if she does? From the sounds of things, this girl isn’t normal either.”

Lena snorted. “You can say that again.”

“But she’s not as abnormal as me,” Webby protested. “What if I do something weird? What if I scare her away? What if--”

“What if nothing,” Wren said firmly. “You’re worried about things that haven’t happened yet. Enjoy your sleepover. Enjoy being a child, Webby. Steelbeak has gone far underground, FOWL is no longer interested in you, and you can have as normal a life as it’s possible to have while living under this roof. Don’t worry about how you’re perceived. Huey and Louie like you, I’m pretty sure Dewey has a crush on you, and---”

“Wait, what? Did you just say Dewey has a crush on me?”

“How did that slip?” Wren asked and her eyes twinkled. “I’m kidding, of course.”

“No, you’re not,” Lena said. “But, of course, Webby won’t see through that, will you, pink?”

“If you’re sure…” Webby said, looking like she wanted to be convinced more than anything. Wren nodded and Webby sighed.

“As I was saying, the boys care about you, your grandmother and I love you, and Mr. McDuck, well, if he doesn’t like you, he can jump in a lake.”

“This is _his _house,” Webby pointed out.

“And your grandmother runs it with an iron fist,” Wren countered, smirking. “Trust me, if she’s displeased with Mr. McDuck, she’ll let you know in no uncertain terms.”

Webby smiled weakly and Wren tousled her hair affectionately.

“Everything will be fine. There will be no nasty surprises tonight, I promise,” Wren soothed. “Your grandmother and I will be here to make sure everything runs smoothly and you can enjoy yourselves, okay?”

Webby nodded and Wren guided her away from the Other Bin’s door. Webby cast one last forlorn look over her shoulder at it before permitting herself to be taken away. 

Lena followed at a distance, feeling oddly left out although she wasn’t technically present. Being in the shadow realm was like being submerged in an icy lake in the middle of winter at night and yet, she somehow felt colder and more isolated than before. She hated it. Time lost all meaning in the infinite night of the shadow realm and so did warmth, as there was none to be found. 

It hurt that no one could so much as sense her. When the doorbell rang and Webby lunged for it, she dove through Duckworth and Lena flipped Duckworth off. He couldn’t see her anyway, but it pissed her off that at least he had visibility on the mortal plane. She would’ve killed to be heard and seen. Well, maybe not _killed_, but she would’ve preferred it to this purgatory.

As far as Lena could tell, Duckworth had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Webby caught her breath and offered Violet a small smile. She beckoned her inside, since, after all, she had already invited herself over. Lena gave Violet the stink eye treatment. She didn’t like this girl. She didn’t like the idea that this girl would replace her, as Lena was pretty sure she would. Not that she thought Webby was so flighty as all that. But Lena’s low self-esteem had her valuing herself pretty low in anyone else’s mind.

Lena noticed Webby didn’t bring Violet into her bedroom. If anything, Webby took a circuitous route to prevent Violet from discerning where it was, as well as where the boys lived. Webby felt protective over her family and while Lena knew that Webby would’ve been aware of any other children in FOWL custody, Webby was taking no chances. It was admirable if a little sad.

Webby had prepared the room with suitable games, although, seeing as she had no experience with entertaining people, she’d chosen an odd assortment of videos and board games that she’d clearly rummaged for in the closet. Lena didn’t recognize half the names and doubted Webby knew how to play them, much less what they are.

She was also itching to get her hands on the book Violet had brought. Lena could see it in her eyes. Her anxiety had her reaching for her hips too, where she’d kept her blades. 

“Planning on stabbing someone, pink?” Lena asked, amused. “That’d bring a quick end to this slumber party. And the cops.”

Her snark amused her. It was probably a good thing that it did because it wasn’t going to amuse anyone else.

“I can’t help but notice--”

“Bet you could,” Lena muttered.

“---that you keep reaching for your hips. A form of self-defense, perhaps?” Violet mused.

Lena watched Webby closely. Now would be a test of how much she had changed in the past year. The old Webby, fresh out of FOWL, would’ve refuted her and then possibly jumped her. The Webby she’d encountered when she was alive might’ve hesitated but still refused to yield ground. Webby gnawed the inside of her cheek and paused, looking at the Baggle game instead of Violet.

“Yeah,” Webby said when Lena was certain she wouldn’t reply. “I used to carry knives.”

“I assume your grandmother put an end to that,” Violet surmised.

“Yes,” Webby said. “Granny put them where I can’t find them.”

Violet was quiet for a minute and Lena studied her. There was an odd magical aura coming from her backpack and Lena poked at it. As she couldn’t actually touch anything on the mortal plane, it yielded her nothing. Still, Lena disliked it. Something was rotten in the city of Duckburg.

“Your upbringing must have been quite unorthodox,” Violet said at last and, though she strove to keep her face emotionless, sympathy shone in her eyes. Lena scoffed, unimpressed. As far as she was concerned, Violet was playing Webby like a violin until she got what she wanted. She ought to know. She’d done it herself. Lena looked down, ashamed.

“You could say that.”

Violet leaned forward and touched Webby’s hand. “You didn’t have to let me in.”

“Yeah, I did,” Webby said and sounded faintly annoyed. “Can we look at the book?”

“All right.”

Violet opened the book to show tulpas, which were manifestations of strong emotional energy, similar to poltergeists. Lena hadn’t encountered any in the shadow realm, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there. As far as Lena could tell, everything seemed to be avoiding her. Maybe because she was in limbo. 

“Perhaps there are spirits lingering about the mansion,” Violet said. “Your friendship bracelet is warm to the touch.”

Webby’s eyes narrowed and she took off the bracelet, stowing it in a pocket. Lena seethed. First off, how dare Violet touch the friendship bracelet. It wasn’t hers. For a second thing, what was she playing at? She was on to her.

“It’s nothing,” Webby lied. She said it coldly, bluntly, much as Lena had imagined Steelbeak would have done. Lena winced.

“It’s peculiar,” Violet corrected her, unperturbed or seeming that way. “I sense ectoplasmic energy coming from that bracelet. Almost as if it were connected to a spirit.”

She’d piqued Webby’s interest. The other girl straightened up, watching Violet closely. With a frown, she agreed to Violet’s suggestion to call upon the spirits or at least to see if any would answer their call. The girls started chanting and Lena hissed as the air dropped a few degrees, to the point where she could feel it, and shadows formed about them. Oh, hell no. If there were tulpas around here, which Lena had doubted, she wasn’t letting them get ahold of Webby. Webby had been through enough.

“Lena!” Webby gasped as she accidentally transported all three of them into the hell that was her life. Or after-life. Webby flung herself at her and Lena hugged her fiercely back. Webby pulled away first and despite the joy of meeting her again, doubts lingered in her eyes. 

“I wish you’d told me the truth earlier,” Webby said.

“I tried, pink, but I couldn’t. Aunt Magica wouldn’t let me. I wanted to. She knew…” Lena bit the inside of her cheek. “She knew how I felt about you. That’s why she was taunting you so much before.”

“How you felt--?” Webby gawked. “Wait, do you mean you don’t feel anything now? Or that you still do and--you’re confusing me.”

“I hate to interrupt this reunion, but the tulpas appear to be edging closer,” Violet cautioned and Lena looked up. So they did. Huh, so tulpas _were _real. It looked like Violet got one point for being a brainiac.

“Violet, this is Lena. Lena, this is--”

“Oh, I know who she is,” Lena spat. “You have something magical on you, something that feels very familiar to me.”

“Magica’s amulet,” Violet said, backing away. The tulpas were eyeing Webby with interest.

“_My _amulet,” Lena spat. “Aunt Magica’s staff transformed into _my _amulet.”

“What are you doing with Magica’s amulet?” Webby said, looking more confused than ever. Before Violet had a chance to respond, the tulpas seized Webby. Lena’s heart, or, rather, what would’ve been her heart, thudded painfully. Yes, she wanted to keep Webby here even though she knew it was selfish. In a bizarre way, Webby’s life mirrored hers. And Webby might’ve been more at peace here without Steelbeak and FOWL mucking about in her life. But that didn’t mean she’d actually wanted this…

Lena cursed as the tulpas attempted to separate her from Webby. She and Violet were running after them, the giant mass holding Webby hostage. Webby, to her credit, was struggling.

“Of all the times not to have my knife!” Webby snapped. She muttered and then screamed as it whipped her around the corner.

Violet seemed capable of channeling magic, as evidenced by this debacle, and Lena realized sadly that she was probably her only hope of keeping Webby from becoming trapped in the shadow realm. That was Lena’s nightmare, not Webby’s. With reluctance, she agreed to team up with Violet and banish the tulpas.

With Webby freed, she turned toward Violet and then glanced at Lena, who was disappearing. From what Lena could guess, she was about to fade out of the shadow realm too. She had expended too much magical energy to keep Webby from harm. It wasn’t fair, but then again, since when was her life fair? She’d been designed to be a pawn, sacrificed for the greater good. Tears filled her eyes, as well as Webby’s, and Webby lunged forward, desperate to keep her here.

The bracelet, as well as Lena’s amulet, emerged and surrounded them in a blinding magical wave. When it was over, Lena coughed and shuddered, warmth rushing up and down her body. It came as a shock, coupled with a strange feeling of weight to her body. 

“I’m back?” Lena said, touching her chest and arms. It couldn’t be, couldn’t it?

“You certainly appear to be,” Violet said and smiled at her. Lena didn’t smile back. 

Webby flung herself at Lena again and Lena spun her around. Violet joined in on the hug and Lena could almost feel normal again, even if she didn’t exactly understand what had happened. Her amulet was inside of her now; she could feel its beat like a second pulse in her chest. 

Webby offered Violet a small smile. “Thanks.”

“I’m glad to be of assistance,” Violet said, still smiling at Lena, who remained stoic.

* * *

  
Webby didn’t know how to feel. On the one hand, she was grateful to Violet for her help. And she had her best friend back, along with the answers she’d so desperately sought. On the other, she didn’t know how she felt toward Violet. It was hard to let people in and Violet’s questions about FOWL had rubbed her the wrong way. 

They had reached Webby’s room, which Webby was reluctant to share with Violet even now. Violet still hadn’t proven herself to Webby’s satisfaction. 

They were seated on the floor and eating ice cream, Lena with great relish. She hadn’t been able to eat or drink anything, among other things, since her banishment to the shadow realm. Both of them were a bit jittery and Webby couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Everything was too perfect. Steelbeak would come back. Or someone from FOWL would show up and try to waste her. Or something. She couldn’t be free. 

“Hey, pink,” Lena said quietly while they ate their triple fudge sundaes. “You do know it’s over, don’t you?”

“What’s over?” Violet queried. Lena ignored her.

“FOWL’s not coming to get you. Steelbeak’s learned his lesson by now. And McMoneyBags isn’t about to kick you out.”

“I know…” Webby said, but she was still uncertain.

“You’re _safe_, pink,” Lena emphasized.

Webby smiled humorlessly. “If there’s one thing I learned growing up in FOWL, it’s that there’s no such thing as ‘safe’.”

* * *

  
Lysander couldn’t find the triplets or Webby. They didn’t appear to be out and about in Duckburg and he lacked the funds to stay in a hotel. He’d have to figure out where to squat and then try again tomorrow. Funzo’s had been a bust, which he had expected, to be honest. It had only pointed out how different he was from his fellow children. 

He glanced up at McDuck Manor and shook his head. He still couldn’t understand Webby’s reasoning. She’d had everything. How could she throw it away? If he’d been in her position, he’d never have abandoned FOWL. He’d have taken advantage of the opportunities Steelbeak had to offer. Now no one knew where Steelbeak was, presumably in hiding.

He’d make everything right somehow. And he’d bring Webby back into the fold. Steelbeak had tried and failed, but he wasn’t a kid. And he hadn’t been through what they had. And once he’d brought Webby back in, Steelbeak had to acknowledge him. He just had to.

This would take time. Fortunately, time was something he had in spades. Of course, that meant he’d have to avoid local law enforcement because he had no viable explanation for why he wasn’t in school or living with someone. But he could manage that, he was pretty sure. How hard could it be?

Tomorrow he’d try again. And the day after that and the day after that until he had achieved his goal. Nothing was going to stand in his way.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note how different Webby’s reaction to Della is. Like, worlds different. Webby does not want Della there. She’ll struggle with her for a while; at the moment, she sees her as an adversary. That might mean that Lysander has some wiggle room…

Webby awoke with a shudder and hugged her knees to her chest. Her face was wet with tears and she worked on controlling her breathing. Somehow, she’d fallen asleep with Lena and Violet in the room and she didn’t intend to alert them to her distress by uttering an audible sob. She needed to get herself back under control. It was just like living at FOWL--no one needed to see her weakness.

Deciding a change of scenery might help chase the nightmare away, she rose to her feet, pushing away the sleeping bag, and glanced over at the other girls. Lena’s brow was creased and she was whimpering in her sleep. Webby hesitated, wondering whether she ought to wake her or if she’d feel as Webby did, not wanting to draw attention to it. Violet was fast asleep, curled onto her side with her arms about a book. A small smile crossed Webby’s beak.

Looking at Lena gave her butterflies and she weighed her options. If she woke Lena, she might rouse Violet too. On the other hand, she didn’t want her best friend to feel alone. Webby knew what it was like to awaken with nightmares and have no one to comfort her. 

She shook Lena’s shoulder gently and the shadow girl rolled over, whining. Webby smoothed Lena’s hair back from her face and the girl’s eyes opened, glowing faintly in the dark. Webby didn’t know if it was her magic or just the lighting, but it was pretty cool looking.

“You were having a nightmare?” Webby murmured, keeping her voice low to avoid waking Violet.

“It’s no big deal, pink,” Lena said and then straightened up, hugging her knees in a sitting position. “But, yeah, I was.”

Webby sat beside her. “Wanna tell me about it?”

Lena frowned, taking in Webby’s damp feathers. “You first.”

“Uh…” 

Webby wasn’t feeling _that _open. It wasn’t that she distrusted Lena, but that she didn’t want to relive the nightmare by repeating it. Moreover, she wasn’t sure if she trusted anyone enough to divulge that. Not even Dewey.

“I didn’t think so,” Lena replied with a bitter twist to her beak. 

It was too close, too personal to repeat. 

“Thanks for trying anyway, pink,” Lena said. Webby nodded, throat tight, and wandered outside. She found her mother asleep on duty with a baby monitor in her hand. Webby scowled. She knew that her mother and grandmother played sentry duty and she had yet to ferret out the corresponding monitor in her room, but it reminded her too much of FOWL’s security for her comfort. 

She stepped around her mother and entered the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. Black Heron’s corpse flashed in her mind’s eye and she shuddered, telling herself to keep it together. It wasn’t like Black Heron hadn’t deserved it or hadn’t goaded her into it. It wasn’t like Webby had to fear she might return. There was no possibility of that, except in her nightmares. 

Her feathers felt damp and she screamed, lurching back from the mirror when she saw blood coating them. She shut the door and huddled on the other side, hugging her knees and rocking back and forth. It wasn’t real. Black Heron had died a year ago. She couldn’t menace her anymore. Webby was _free_.

A knock came at the bathroom door and Webby startled, looking for a weapon. Her eyes fell upon the soap and she shook her head at herself. A bar of soap wouldn’t hurt anyone. Steeling herself for a confrontation, she opened the door. Her grandmother stood on the other side. Remarkably, Wren remained fast asleep. 

“Are you all right?” Mrs. Beakley asked and Webby froze, thinking that her grandmother could see the blood coating her feathers. She was shaking, having forgotten that she’d wetted her face. She panted and Mrs. Beakley smoothed back her hair. 

“Sssh. Nightmare?” 

Webby nodded, throat tight. Was it a nightmare if it had really happened? 

“Want to talk about it, dear?” 

Webby shook her head. 

“All right,” she replied, but she was frowning. That wasn’t the answer she’d been hoping for. Then again, while she’d allowed herself to become more vulnerable around McDuck Manor’s denizens, she hadn’t turned into a blabbermouth as far as that went. While she was primarily Granny, she was still Agent 22 in the back of Webby’s mind. That might never change.

“Did you want a glass of warm milk and cookies?” her grandmother offered.

Webby shook her head. Her stomach was tied into knots and she feared what might transpire if she attempted to eat or drink anything. She had to say something, though, and not just because of Mrs. Beakley’s eagle-eye stare. It burned within her chest and demanded to be released. She drew a deep breath to brace herself.

“Black Heron,” Webby said faintly.

“You dreamt about Black Heron?”

Webby nodded. 

“I know I killed her,” Webby managed to choke out. She stared at her hands and her damp fingers. She couldn’t stop seeing the blood on them, though damn it, it’d been a _year ago_. Why was it now that it had chosen to plague her?

“The first kill is hard,” she said, smoothing back Webby’s hair. “Sometimes it feels like a part of your soul will never return.”

Webby noted her wording. So her grandmother had killed and more than once. She rose in her esteem, both because she’d been driven to kill and because she could admit it. The knot in Webby’s chest loosened slightly. Had her mother killed too? Or was her grandmother the more formidable agent?

“We never found out why FOWL had the boys,” Webby said when she could speak again. “That day, I mean.”

Mrs. Beakley scowled. “I’m not certain how they nabbed them either, other than a joint operation between the Beagle Boys and FOWL. That was one mystery we never quite solved.”

“So the boys are in danger?” Webby asked, unable to suppress the adrenaline that coursed through her. “Should we warn them? Should we wake them up and prepare for a fight?”

“Webby, dear,” Mrs. Beakley said, sounding like she was refraining from rolling her eyes, “they’re perfectly safe here. Everyone is perfectly safe. No one is going to come to any harm. Calm down.”

“Oh.” She admitted being a little disappointed. She was good at fighting. After how FOWL had trained her, there was little she couldn’t handle when it came to sparring. When it came to everything else, however, she fell short. Steelbeak hadn’t considered social interaction important, for example. 

“It wasn’t Steelbeak’s idea,” Webby remembered. “He knew the boys were there, but he hadn’t brought them in. Otherwise, he would have kept me from them.”

Webby’s stomach churned, remembering the night in question. She looked up at her grandmother. Agent 22. “But if he didn’t order them taken, then who did? Who else is in charge of FOWL?”

“You don’t know?” Mrs. Beakley replied, surprised. “I thought, growing up in FOWL HQ, you would have known everyone there.”

“They were never actually present…” Webby said, frowning. “They issued orders over the monitor in Dad’s--Steelbeak’s--office.”

She didn’t know why she’d slipped up like that since she almost never referred to him by that moniker. Mrs. Beakley scowled; she probably didn’t appreciate the reminder. At least Webby had turned out to be a duck and not half chicken. Or some weird combination of duck and chicken.

“So you’ve never met them.”

“I don’t even know what they sound like,” Webby admitted. “They used voice disguising software. They went the extra mile to ensure no one could identify them.”

Mrs. Beakley’s scowl deepened. “That doesn’t bode well.”

“You don’t think they’d go after the boys again, do you?” 

Mrs. Beakley’s scowl was her only response. Webby shuddered, wanting to dash off to the boys pronto and rouse them from their sleep to warn them, but her grandmother had insisted that the manor was safe. A few months earlier, she might not have taken her at her word. However, without Steelbeak drilling beneath the manor or Magica wreaking havoc on Duckburg, both of which were extraordinary occurrences, Webby had to believe that no one mundane would be able to break-in. She was tense, but...she reluctantly agreed with her grandmother. 

“Not tonight, at any rate,” Mrs. Beakley said. She hugged Webby tightly. “Try and get some rest.”

Webby would try, but she didn’t envision sleep coming easily. Unfortunately, she remained a good liar thanks to her time in FOWL. She parted ways with her grandmother and returned to her room to discover Violet and Lena both awake. Webby’s feathers prickled.

“You both have nightmares,” Violet commented.

“No, I don’t!” Lena snapped; her first inclination was to deny it in front of a girl she still didn’t trust.

“How do you know?” Webby asked, likewise wary.

“I overheard your conversation earlier,” Violet replied.

“You were supposed to be asleep!” Lena snapped, bristling. Webby put a hand on her shoulder and she could feel the tension wracking her body. Oddly, something within Webby loosened seeing it. This was so normal compared to her fears about FOWL. She could almost cope with it.

“I’m not judging you,” Violet replied, unruffled. “I am merely remarking upon an observation I made.”

“Why do you have to be so prim and polite all the time? It’s like you’re a 1920s etiquette manual!” Lena huffed.

“Would you prefer I cursed at you instead?” Violet said.

Webby felt uncomfortable with the squabbling. Her way of settling disputes usually involved fisticuffs. She cleared her throat and the girls ceased staring at each other (in Lena’s case, glaring). 

“We’re not attacking each other, okay? Yeah, we both had nightmares. And no, we don’t want to talk about them. We can all be friends without attacking each other.”

Lena frowned, looking torn. She wanted to continue her dispute with Violet, but she didn’t want to upset Webby. Reluctantly, she bowed her head. “Fine. I’m sorry.”

“Both of you have had troubling childhoods,” Violet remarked. “Or what passes for it with a shadow. I sympathize.”

“I don’t want your sympathy--” Lena started and Webby elbowed her hard in the ribs. “Ow, jeez. Sorry, pink.”

Lena swallowed hard and lifted her head again. “Thanks, I guess. You said you grew up all alone? Kinda like Webby.”

“My fathers are a tad overprotective,” Violet admitted, looking sheepish. “They did not think I was prepared for the outside world.”

“I know what you mean,” Webby murmured. Although, in her case, it was because they didn’t want to chance her falling back into her true family’s embrace. She felt cold suddenly and Lena put a hand on hers. Webby held hers and squeezed it. Warmth blossomed in her chest and she rested her head on Lena’s shoulder. 

“I was originally content to be in the house, but I felt like I was missing something incredible. It wasn’t until the Shadow War that I realized how much…” Violet murmured.

“I didn’t realize how much I needed kids my own age until I met the triplets,” Webby murmured, surprising herself by volunteering the information. She felt safe here, with Lena beside her. Maybe even a little bit with Violet present.

“I didn’t mean to betray you, you know,” Lena said. It was very late (or very early, depending on how you reckoned time). Somehow, it felt like the time to reveal secrets, a strange liminal moment between one day and the next. Like anything could happen.

“I know,” Webby said quietly. “You didn’t have a choice.”

“I didn’t want you to hate me…” Lena said, straightening and looking her in the eye. She smiled, but it was humorless. “But I know you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. I can’t,” Webby said and hugged her fiercely as if she could glue all of their broken pieces together with that one embrace. If only it was that easy.

Violet suppressed a yawn and Lena shot her an accusatory look.

“What?” Violet said. “I _was _asleep until you two started talking.”

“We should try to get some sleep,” Lena said with a dubious look on her face as if sleep might be long in coming. Webby privately agreed. Sleep might be a long-forgotten dream at this rate.

Nonetheless, she ought to attempt it. Curling up in the sleeping bag again, she reached for Lena’s hand and then, after a moment’s thought, Violet’s too. Maybe between the three of them, they could stave off the nightmares for a while longer.

* * *

  
  
Della landed in the middle of the night on the McDuck Manor lawn. She hadn’t judged time correctly, but then again, she might have lost track of it in the last decade. She gazed up at the house and frowned. The lights were off because of course, everyone was asleep. That would give her the entire night to compose a decent entry line, even if she was suddenly swamped with exhaustion.

What if her boys didn’t want to see her? What if they were so happy with their uncles that...no. She couldn’t afford to think like that. She would get herself together and she’d figure out how to make this work. She’d spent the last ten years determined to reach them again. 

In the meanwhile, she guessed she could sleep in the ship. She didn’t really want to. In all honesty, she was sick to death of that damn spaceship. If she never saw it again, it’d be too soon. Maybe she’d prefer sleeping on the grass. Or she could ninja into McDuck Manor like a boss and sneak into her old room and bed for a bit?

She prepared to spring forward, as she had on the moon, and crashed. Oh, right, Earth gravity. Earth’s gravity was a pain. She’d need to grow accustomed to it, as well as the weight of her new robotic leg. She’d be carrying part of the Spear with her regardless. 

She crept out of the woods to determine the position of the moon and, from there, how long until daybreak. Seeing as she was already on the manor’s grounds, she wouldn’t have to worry about scaling a fence or the gates. She knew the door would be locked--how could he not, with children inside? She didn’t exactly have a key on her, either.

According to the moon’s position, she had two hours until daybreak. Then, ostensibly, her uncle Scrooge would be awake to let her in. If she knew her uncle, he awoke way too early anyway. Probably with the dawn, unless she missed her guess.

She could stand out here all night or she could figure out a way into the manor. Or not, if she didn’t want to risk agitating the security sensors. Scowling, Della trooped back to the Spear and glared at the bucket of bolts she had spent so long rebuilding. Huffing, she climbed back into the cockpit and curled up, but she couldn’t sleep. She was tired, but at the same time, exhilarated. She’d spent all of this time trying to get back to her boys and now she was here.

There _were _back-routes into the house, though she hadn’t used them in forever. Uncle Scrooge might have sealed them up by now. Did she really want to creep into her old house like a criminal? She glanced up at the sky, but the sun was no nearer to rising than it had been before. She was disappointed but unsurprised. The sun didn’t rise because she willed it. She hadn’t wound up back on Earth because she’d willed it ten years ago; she’d had to make it happen through hard work, perseverance, and encountering help when she needed it.

Della realized she’d been standing on the stoop for at least a half-hour and reasoning to herself aloud. She’d gotten in the habit of talking to herself over the last decade and it really needed to stop. She didn’t want her babies to think she was insane. Besides, she was sure it was just a side effect of being alone for so long. It’d go away soon.

She considered trying the doorknob, but that would trigger the alarm, assuming Uncle Scrooge had one. Frowning, contemplative, she decided to try the doorbell. She wouldn’t be able to stand lingering out here a minute longer. Her babies needed her. 

Agent 22 opened the door and Della stared.

“Uh, hey,” Della said, feeling oddly sheepish. “I was kinda hoping Uncle Scrooge would be here. Or Duckworth.”

For a minute, Mrs. Beakley stared back. She didn’t seem to know what to make of her, which made alarm bells chime in Della’s head. This was not the act of someone who had been expecting her. Or, at least, someone who held her in high regard. Della bulldozed through it, hoping she was reading too much into it.

“So, uh, I guess you live here now? When did this happen?” Della said. She noticed that Mrs. Beakley had yet to let her inside. 

“Mr. McDuck,” Mrs. Beakley said, turning and not acknowledging Della at all. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“This early, Beakley?” Scrooge groused. “Cannae it wait until morning?”

“Uncle Scrooge!” Della called. She didn’t see her uncle anywhere, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t lurking somewhere in his red bathrobe. At the sound of her voice, Scrooge hastened through into the hallway and into the foyer. He seized Della and swung her around in a tight hug. Della beamed.

When he set her down, he scanned her up and down. “Look at you!”

His smile flickered. “Your leg…”

“Lost it in the crash,” Della said, deciding he didn’t need to know the gory details. She suppressed a shudder. Cutting off her own leg had sucked, to put it mildly.

“And built from rocket parts! Brilliant!” he crooned.

“Where is everyone? I realize it’s early, but it was almost like Mrs. Beakley didn’t want to let me in…” Della said, frowning. 

“She’s just worried about the girls,” Scrooge explained, holding her at arm’s length. He seemed reluctant to release her completely as if she might vanish into thin air. 

“Girls?” Della repeated. “Don’t you mean my boys?”

“No, no, the girls,” Scrooge replied, closing the door behind her. “We’ve had a bit of a scare with FOWL for the last few months. Webbigail has a couple of friends over.”

Della cast her mind back. “Oh, Mrs. Beakley’s granddaughter, right. It was a shame about Wren…”

“Wren’s back too,” Scrooge said, smiling again. “Turns out it takes more than that to kill off a Beakley.”

“I thought she had retired,” Della said uncertainly. “Why would FOWL be bothering you guys now?”

“Ah, it’s a long story,” Scrooge said. “Come, we’ll take tea and talk about it. And then you can wake the boys up.”

He couldn’t seem to stop beaming. Della shared in it, basking in the glow of being home, breathing Earth air and not needing to chew the Oxy-Chew. Yet that sense of apprehension crept down her spine. That hadn’t been a case of worry over her granddaughter. Mrs. Beakley had been dismissive of her and Della didn’t know why. 

“So, what’s happened since I was last home? Don’t skimp on the details,” Della said. Mrs. Beakley had reappeared in the kitchen and was mutely preparing tea and coffee, though she cast a few glances Della’s way.

“As I said, it’s a long story,” Scrooge said.

Della turned her head to spy a small girl staring at them. She’d crept up so suddenly, Della hadn’t heard her. This must be Webbigail. Della smiled at her. Webby did not smile back. Then a look of dawning comprehension came over her face. The suspicious glance didn’t fade, despite her realizing who it must be.

“You must be Della,” Webby said. Her voice was flat and she’d tensed, fists balling.

“That’s right,” Della said, frowning now. “And you must be Webbigail. So you’ve been living here with the boys for the last ten years, I assume.”

Mrs. Beakley jerked her head and she glanced at Uncle Scrooge, who was likewise shaking her head. Perplexed at the odd reactions she was getting, she asked, “Is something wrong?”

“Ye might as well tell her, Beakley,” Scrooge instructed. “She’ll find out from the boys anyway.”

“Find out what?” Della asked, sharper than she’d intended. She didn’t like being out of the loop.

“Which part?” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly. She brought the tea and coffee mugs to the table. “The part about the boys living on a houseboat with their uncle Donald for ten years? Or the part about Webby being kidnapped by FOWL and only having returned a year ago?”

“Wait, what? What’s going on?” Della demanded. She hadn’t missed Webby sizing her up as if she were a potential opponent. 

“As I said, it’s a long story,” Scrooge said, sighing. “We might as well get to it.”

“Would you mind getting the boys, dear?” Mrs. Beakley said, addressing Webby. “I’m sure they’d like to be awake for this.”

Webby’s eyes flashed and she didn’t budge.

“Webbigail,” Mrs. Beakley said, her tone harsher. “Please go wake the boys.”

“Yes, Granny,” Webby said, in a tone that indicated she was only being polite and that she wished she could’ve called her something less kind. After another few seconds of lingering, Webby vanished through the doorway.

“That lass is a bit of a troublemaker,” Scrooge said once they were sure Webby was out of earshot.

Mrs. Beakley sighed, fixing herself another cup of tea and then joining them at the table. “It’s an uphill battle with her, after her father having had her for the past seven years.”

“Her father? Who’s her father?” Della asked.

“Steelbeak,” Uncle Scrooge and Mrs. Beakley said in unison in equal tones of disgust and weariness. 

“You’re right,” Della said. “You’d better start at the beginning.”

* * *

Webby didn’t want to rouse the boys. She was resentful over Della’s arrival. She dragged her feet, although she knew the boys had a right to know their mother. However, Della would want to pull them away from her. She’d want to get to know them and spend time with them, all the while excluding Webby because Webby wasn’t her family. Della would steal them away. The boys were the whole reason Webby was here. If she lost them…

“Pink?” Lena asked, standing outside her door. “You all right?”

Webby didn’t know where to begin. It felt like all of her thoughts and emotions had barricaded themselves behind a wall and the dam would burst if she spoke a word. Slowly, she shook her head.

“What’s wrong?” Lena asked.

“Everything,” Webby managed, shaking her head. She turned on her heel and headed toward the triplets’ room. 

“Woah, woah, you can’t just leave with that,” Lena protested. She followed her. The triplets’ room was open and all three boys were laid out. Louie wasn’t sleeping, though—Webby could see the telltale light of his cell phone. Dewey was singing in his sleep and normally that would’ve prompted a smile, but Webby glared. Huey had fallen asleep hugging the JWG.

“Webs?” Louie queried, looking up.

“Your mom’s here,” Webby said without preamble and then before Louie had a chance to follow up, she pivoted and headed back down the hall.

“Webby, wait!” Louie cried. “Webby, what the hell!”

“That’s what I want to know!” Lena added. Their shouting had roused the other two boys, who were staring in confusion at the scene before them. Webby could feel the walls going up again. She would keep anyone from seeing her vulnerable.

“Did you say our _mom’s _here?” Huey asked and Webby nodded, her whole body stiff and tense.

The boys scrambled out of bed and dressed, Webby’s strange behavior seemingly forgotten. Webby scoffed, stepping away. No one would notice her absence, then. They hadn’t even met Della yet and she was already more important. On the one hand, she knew that of course, she would be. Della was their mom. On the other hand, though, she’d just gotten to know the boys. Jealousy brewed in her heart.

Maybe if she’d felt more secure in the house, this wouldn’t be happening. But even after a year, Webby still feared being ousted. She felt abnormal, particularly compared to the boys. And all of this only highlighted it.

“Webs,” Lena said, grabbing her hand. She might’ve put off the boys, but she hadn’t deterred Lena. Or Violet, for that matter, who was joining them in the hall.

Right. She’d need to tell her friends something to put them off the scent. But you weren’t supposed to do that with friends. It all came down to trust. Did she trust them? Lena had died for her. Literally. Webby opened her beak and then shut it, shaking her head. 

“Webbigail,” Violet said quietly. 

“Hey, I’m sure I can find them myself,” Della called. “They’re in my old room with Donald, right?”

She appeared at the end of the hallway and if looks could kill, the triplets would’ve been orphans. Webby stormed off toward her room and because she could she closed the door behind her. There were no insipid love beads instead here, unlike in FOWL.

“Is it me or does Webby not like me?” Della mused.

Webby sneered. Oh, yes, it was definitely Della. She didn’t like her. True, she didn’t know her, but what she knew, she disliked. 

* * *

  
  
Lysander stared up at McDuck Manor in the rosy dawn glow. Inexplicably, people appeared to be awake already, judging by the lights on. He felt a sudden, powerful longing to be part of it. What must it feel like to be part of a family that cared instead of one that threw everyone into battle?

But, no, might as well wish on the moon. He balled his fists. Somehow, he’d lure Webby out and talk to her. She couldn’t be completely content with SHUSH operatives. He wouldn’t have been or so he told himself.

Things were better in FOWL. Lower expectations, for one thing, in terms of cooperating with others. Plus, she wouldn’t have to worry so much about what her family thought about her. For another minute, he let himself gaze at McDuck Manor and imagine what it must be like to her. Then he shunted the thoughts away. There was work to do and daydreaming solved nothing.

Surely the triplets and Webby had other friends, outside of each other. He could ingratiate himself with them and then go from there. Of course, that would mean more observation, which he hated, but he didn’t see any other options. Gathering intel was the most important part of any mission, after all.

His throat was tight as he looked away. Webby was the “chosen child”. She’d always been high in Steelbeak’s esteem. He balled his fists. He couldn’t do this without her and he wanted to hate her, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Not yet, anyway. There would be time for it later. Time and time enough.


	4. Chapter 4

Webby froze. It was as though her blood had turned to ice. It had never occurred to her that Steelbeak might have had affairs with other women, despite walking in on one. It was foolish of her to think he’d only cared for her mother when she knew he didn’t care for anyone beyond himself and possibly Webby in a limited sense. Lena’s arm about her kept her from rocking back.

Then cold fury took the place of shock. She stepped away from Lena and stood at her grandmother’s side. Lena followed suit so they could display a united front. While Webby appreciated the gesture, she felt alone regardless. She could feel the facade return and she grabbed Lysander (if that was his real name) by the collar. 

“Prove it,” Webby spat. 

“Webby, I’m not sure that’s wise…” Agent 22 cautioned and she ignored her. She slammed Lysander against the bars. She was shaking in anger, she found, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been this angry. It might have been over someone harming the triplets.

“I don’t believe you,” Webby snapped. “Steelbeak only had one child and that’s me.”

“Webby,” her grandmother said, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s entirely possible Steelbeak had liaisons with other women. As much as it bothers me to admit it, I doubt Wren was an isolated incident.”

“He would have known if he had another kid,” Webby said. She wasn’t sure why she was reacting this way until, slowly, logic crept in. She was Steelbeak’s child. She had endured that horrific life in FOWL because of who she was. If there were other kids like her, it would have taken the pressure off. It would have made life, if not bearable, at least not torture. It also would have meant that the suffering she’d endured was meaningless because someone else could have been the heir. Someone else could have faced Black Heron’s wrath all the time. She was replaceable. Like hell she was.

“You’re lying,” Webby spat. 

“Pink, I don’t think he is,” Lena said. Webby turned to regard her best friend. She wanted to refute her too. How dare Lena take Lysander’s side. How dare she not agree immediately with Webby. The anger crept higher and she slammed Lysander into the bars.

“Webby, enough!” Mrs. Beakley cried, alarmed. She tried to wrench Webby’s fingers away from Lysander’s collar, but Webby had a death grip on his shirt. With effort, she managed to pull her granddaughter away. Webby fought free, landing on one knee and hissing like an angry cat. How dare Lysander make her life seem trivial. 

Her hands fell to her hips. She had put the knives back in the kitchen, but that didn’t mean she was defenseless. Seething, she noticed Lysander had stepped back, out of range. She glanced around for the gate release and Mrs. Beakley hugged her tightly. Compared to the grip she’d had her in before, this was meant to be soothing. Webby trembled but allowed herself to be held. She refused to believe she wouldn’t have known about half-siblings. No matter what this boy said, he was lying. She was an only child.

At least, a treacherous voice whispered, on her mother’s side…

“What’s going on out here?” Dewey called, approaching cautiously. “I heard screaming. Webby, are you okay? Who’s that?”

“That,” Webby growled, “is someone that claims to be my half brother through Steelbeak.”

“I don’t really see the resemblance…” Dewey said. He put a hand on her arm and she stiffened. She didn’t want to hurt her grandmother or Dewey. Or Lena for that matter. Their soft, conciliatory touches were weakening her fury. She wanted to hold onto it. She wanted to be resentful and petty. She wanted to hate Lysander.

“Perhaps we ought to hear what he has to say,” Mrs. Beakley suggested. Webby snarled, still quivering in outrage. Lena smoothed back her hair and Webby looked up at her. It was such a tender gesture, especially from her, and Webby swallowed hard, forcing herself not to cry.

“We can hear it from here,” Webby snapped, irritated with herself for calming down. A few months ago, Webby had read a comic that dealt with platonic soulmates soothing each other. Lena was doing that now and Webby was reluctantly mollified. Her throat was tight.

“I can help you,” Lysander said, brushing himself off. “I went through what you did.”

“No,” Webby said. Even the last vestiges of her anger seeped away. “You didn’t.”

Dewey squeezed Webby’s shoulder. With Dewey, Lena, and her grandmother, she couldn’t fall back into her FOWL ways. They loved her too much and she reciprocated. Lena was stroking her hair still and Webby sighed, wondering if she could get her to do that when they were back in the manor.

“I was trained to fight and kill thanks to my aunt and uncle, who tried to kill me on a daily basis from the day I turned six,” Lysander said. 

“Dude, what is it with FOWL and this intense training?” Dewey asked. She huffed. Did he believe him too? What the hell? Was she alone? She remembered her secret heart, the one she had desperately tried to keep from Steelbeak and Black Heron, and how much she had yearned to be loved and part of a real family. Now she was and she didn’t want Lysander muscling in on that. She didn’t want to share the triplets _again_. She still wasn’t happy about Della being here.

“Webby...it’s up to you whether you want to admit him to the manor, but you might want to think about speaking with him,” her grandmother said. She released her and Webby huffed. 

“All right, fine,” Webby snapped. “You have five minutes. Convince me you’re my half-brother. Go ahead. Go.”

Was she being harsh? Probably. Did she care? Not really. With her grandmother’s arms no longer about her, Dewey slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. That reminded her of what Lena had said, about Dewey having a crush on her. Was that why he was touching her? Did he want an excuse? She studied him and his little cowlick. 

But she wouldn’t allow herself to get distracted for too long. More important things were afoot.

“Uh, Webby? Pretty sure he’d need a paternity test for that,” Lena pointed out. “And that’s not gonna happen in five minutes.”

Webby scowled. She hated that she was right and folded her arms across her chest. For now, she’d have to accept that. Later, however, she’d raise serious issues with it.

“Then he can come back with one,” Webby huffed. Dewey hugged her to him and her heart skipped a few beats. They were supposed to be one big family, but that didn’t explain why Dewey (and Lena) gave her butterflies. Even after a year with them, she hadn’t come to any conclusion that she cared to express. She didn’t want to make herself vulnerable enough to try.

“Can’t I just talk to you?” Lysander pleaded. Yet even as he said that there was a cold look in his eye Webby disliked. She stiffened and saw the movement mirrored. They had both assumed their FOWL facades. That put them on an even keel and she snorted.

“You can talk from there,” Webby said. She stepped away from Dewey; for this, she wanted to stand alone. She turned toward Lena, Dewey, and Mrs. Beakley.

“You should go,” she said, trying not to make it an order but aware it sounded like one. Lena scowled, Dewey looked hurt, and Mrs. Beakley’s eyes narrowed. Webby’s stomach flip-flopped unhappily. She wanted to apologize to Dewey but didn’t want to lose face in front of Lysander. He was untrustworthy right now, an enemy.

“That’s not a good idea, Webbigail,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly.

“It’s awkward to talk to you through the gates,” Lysander retorted. 

“Too bad,” Webby snapped. “You should have thought of that before accosting me.”

“Pink, he literally can’t reach you through the bars unless you grab him,” Lena said, nonplussed. 

“You don’t need to reach someone to hurt them,” Webby spat. FOWL 101. Lysander’s beak upturned into a smirk and Webby’s eyes narrowed, suspicion looming. She balled her fists. She had no intention of letting Lysander anywhere near her family. She didn’t trust any FOWL operatives, past or present, as far as she could throw them. Lysander could plead his case from behind the bars. There was a certain irony in speaking to someone associated with FOWL while they were on the wrong side of the bars.

“Okay, pink, take it down a notch,” Lena said. She sensed that Webby didn’t want to be touched right now, thankfully, and didn’t approach her. 

Lysander grumbled about this “not going according to plan” and huffed. He folded his arms across his chest and twisted his head to get a better glimpse of her. Her hands itched to grab him through the bars again, but she desisted for everyone else’s sake. It’d been a year since she’d felt like this and it was making her sick. To her surprise, she didn’t want to be this person anymore, the kind of person who shook people down and dispatched others.

“Are you happy here?” Lysander asked.

“I _was_,” Webby snapped. It had started before his arrival, though. Even if she couldn’t see Della, she felt her presence in the back of her mind.

Mrs. Beakley yanked her back before she had a chance to elaborate, which she wouldn’t have anyway. Let him think whatever he wanted. If he wanted to believe that she was referring obliquely to him, then who was she to interfere? After all, Steelbeak had told her 3/4 of villainy was impression and another ¼ was manipulation.

“While I can understand your reluctance to speak with him, I doubt the vitriol is helpful,” her grandmother warned. “Nor is it warranted. You don’t know anything about him, Webby.”

“I know he’s a liar,” Webby said sullenly.

“You know no such thing,” she chided. “You’re projecting your resentment of Steelbeak’s and Black Heron’s treatment onto him.”

Mrs. Beakley smoothed back her hair and reluctantly, Webby felt a surge of affection. She wanted to hug her but thought she’d revealed too much already. However, she wouldn’t have objected to another hug. Yes, this family was very gung-ho about hugging, but she’d been touch starved for most of her life.

Nonetheless, this was too much change too fast. She shot Lysander a dirty look and Mrs. Beakley sighed, stepping forward and opening the gate a crack. Webby tensed, certain that Lysander would seize the opening and attack her grandmother. Agent 22 could probably handle herself against a child but that wasn’t a theory Webby was keen on testing.

“Where are you staying?” Mrs. Beakley queried.

“Just how many orphans are you planning on bringing in?” Lena muttered and if Webby’s grandmother heard it, she chose to ignore it. All things told that was probably the wisest decision, even if Webby agreed with Lena. She edged closer to Lena, almost within arm’s length but not quite.

“I have a place,” Lysander said. His face was stoic but Webby wasn’t fooled. Beneath that facade was a calculating mind. He had to be if he were Steelbeak’s get. Again, she bristled. She needed to talk to her father and stop wasting time. Contrary to what her grandmother thought, she’d procured her father’s phone number at the jail, even if she wasn’t technically supposed to contact him without asking Wren or her grandmother first. They would have said “no” anyway.

“Oh, really?” Mrs. Beakley queried, raising her eyebrows. “And where might that be? Are you staying with relatives?”

“Jeez, Abbey Road, since when do you care where people sleep?” Lena interjected. “No one asked me where I was staying--”

“You spent most of your time at our house anyway,” Dewey interrupted. 

“I meant when I wasn’t sleeping at McDuck Manor,” Lena retorted. “If the kid wants to sleep beneath a theatre stage, then that’s his prerogative.”

“If I had known your living conditions prior to Magica’s attack, I would have asked Mr. McDuck to let you stay here,” Mrs. Beakley said to Lena. To Lysander, she said, “Well?”

“I have a place,” Lysander repeated and folded his arms across his chest obstinately. “Don’t worry about me.”

Mrs. Beakley and Lysander stared at each other. If it was a match to see who would blink first, Webby had bad news for him. Even she had problems getting her grandmother to back down. Mrs. Beakley was a formidable woman.

“I don’t want him in the manor,” Webby said. Neither of the two combatants took their gaze away. “We can’t trust him.”

“She has a point, Mrs. B,” Dewey said.

“And we can’t take in everyone who needs a place to stay,” Webby added. She was thankful Dewey was siding with her again. 

“I’ll speak with Mr. McDuck and see what he says about finding this boy a place to stay,” Mrs. Beakley decided. “If he really is your half-brother, Webby, then we should look after him.”

Webby huffed and Lena and Dewey stood on either side of her. For a minute, she could forget everything else that was going on.

Up until Della darted outside. 

“There you are!” Della exclaimed. “Oh, hey, Webby. And you’re...Lena, right? Webby’s best friend?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Lena said, nonplussed.

“I’ve been looking for you guys,” Della said. “We were going to have a Family Game Night--”

“No one told Uncle Scrooge, right?” Dewey asked. “He went kinda nuts after the last Game Night.”

“I thought it’d be fun for a change…” Della said. “It’s been ten years since my last one.”

She glanced through the gate. “Oh, hello there! My name’s Della Duck. Who might you be?”

“Lysander,” he replied, ignoring Webby glaring daggers at him. 

“He claims to be Webby’s half brother on Steelbeak’s side,” Mrs. Beakley said. The way she said it showed she didn’t wholly believe it either. Good. No one should take Lysander at his word. It was probably worthless.

“I see,” Della said and frowned thoughtfully. “Would you like to come play with us?”

“No!” Webby exclaimed before Lysander had a chance to reply. “We don’t even know if he’s really my brother. Or if he’s pretending.”

“Who would want to pretend to be Steelbeak’s kid?” Della pointed out. 

“Someone who wanted to rule FOWL?” Webby countered. 

“Webs,” Dewey said softly, cajoling. “He’s not going to hurt us. We’ll be okay.”

She glared. He didn’t know that. For all they knew, he could be packing weapons they couldn’t see. Her grandmother could probably unearth them, but still. Everyone insisted on treating him like a child instead of a dangerous foe. Was that how they saw her too? Webby’s irritation grew. She wasn’t a child. Or, rather, she wasn’t just a child and she resented the implication she might only be a kid.

She wasn’t budging an inch on this. The others might want Lysander in the manor, but not her. 

“Perhaps another time,” Mrs. Beakley suggested. She put a hand on Webby’s shoulder. It might’ve been her imagination, but it felt part concern and part possession. 

“We can play girls versus boys,” Della proposed. “Me, Lena, Mrs. B, and Webby. Versus the triplets and Scrooge.”

Della bounced on her heels. Webby didn’t want another Game Night. She also didn’t want to be here, with Lysander staring at her and Della so cheerful. Dewey had flocked back to her and Lena frowned thoughtfully, taking Webby’s hand. Webby’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” Lysander proclaimed and then scampered off. They let him go and once he’d passed out of sight, Webby heaved a relieved sigh. That was one pest taken care of. She glanced at Della. But one was staying in her house right now. True, Della had more of a right to the manor than Webby. Webby swallowed past a lump in her throat and she thought about the conclusion she’d come to earlier. Della belonged here more than she did.

And one stupid Game Night wouldn’t change that. 

* * *

  
  
Della Duck might’ve been stubborn and occasionally thick-headed, but she was far from stupid. She knew Webby didn’t like her, but she was determined to turn things around. After all, Webby loved Dewey and was protective over the triplets. There was potential if Della could tap into it. Wren had told her that Webby was afraid Della would take the triplets away from her. Della could see where Webby was coming from, but nothing was further from the truth. She just needed to reassure Webby of that and she was sure she’d come around.

So, yes, she’d set herself up in opposition to her boys for the time being, but it was for a good cause. Thinking over the teams, though, before she’d finalized them, she realized she maybe shouldn’t have put herself opposite Uncle Scrooge. Uncle Scrooge was intense when it came to Game Night and he was ruthless when it came to crushing his opponents, i.e. everyone else. 

She hadn’t yet told her uncle that they were doing Game Night, as her boys seemed convinced Scrooge would become impossible to deal with. Della thought back to previous Game Nights, with her and Donald (where _was _Donald, anyway?) and how competitive Uncle Scrooge would get. Even though she was pretty sure she had PTSD from the moon, the Game Nights gave her war-like flashbacks.

“Rethinking the whole Game Night thing, dear?” Mrs. Beakley said as Della realized she’d been staring at a closet full of board games for the last ten minutes. 

“I want to bond with everyone, but Uncle Scrooge gets kinda…” Della faltered.

“A royal pain in the pinfeathers?” Mrs. Beakley suggested. “We’ve noticed. You might want to try a movie or a video game.”

She frowned at Della. “You can’t win them over in one day. Or even a few. You have years to make up.”

Della winced. “I know, I know. And I’m sorry I took the _Spear_. I didn’t think it would be this hard. And I didn’t think I’d have to deal with your granddaughter being…”

An obstacle she needed to overcome. Mrs. Beakley’s gaze became steely and Della amended her statement.

“Not that there’s anything wrong with Webby,” she added. 

“How hard did you imagine it would be? Did you think the boys would welcome you home with open arms after ten years of being raised by their uncle? After living on a houseboat because of a mistake you made?” Mrs. Beakley said and each word hit her like a blow. She felt alone and she wasn’t sure why Mrs. B was being so hostile. Perhaps it’d been a mistake to bring up Webby.

“I get it, I get it. I’m in the doghouse,” Della said. “You don’t have to keep reminding me.”

Mrs. Beakley softened slightly. “Children can be difficult even at the best of times. The triplets are at least well adjusted and despite being rambunctious, are well-mannered and considerate.”

“But not Webby.”

“Webby has a ways to go,” Mrs. Beakley said. 

“I just want them all to like me,” Della said, her shoulders sagging.

“You can’t be their mother and their friend at the same time. You’re going to have to draw the line somewhere.”

“Wren must’ve had these problems too, right?” Della asked, desperate to feel camaraderie somewhere.

“Wren remained in close contact with Webby over the past seven years, even if she couldn’t reveal her identity. But, yes, being a mother and her true self is new to her.”

Maybe she could talk to her and try to figure out how to be a good mother. There were books, but who had time for that? Della had memorized the most important books she’d encountered; she could remember anything if she put her mind to it. 

That brought her back to Game Night. 

“You really think I can bond with them over video games the same as over board games?” Della asked.

“It’s worth a try,” Mrs. Beakley said. “I’ll work on Webbigail.”

“Thanks,” Della said. “I want her to like me too.”

Mrs. Beakley scowled. “I’m afraid that after the upbringing she’s had, you may be fighting an uphill battle there.”

“She let the boys in,” Della pointed out.

“She encountered the boys at a very low point in her life. She was desperate to find a means of escape and saw it in them. Her guard is back up, especially with this Lysander nonsense.”

“Lysander?” Della repeated. “You mean that kid that was outside the gates earlier? You don’t believe he’s Steelbeak’s kid?”

“Whether he is or isn’t is immaterial. Webby believes he is, despite what she’s said to the contrary. It has put her in a foul mood, so I would tread carefully there.”

“Kinda like Louie…” Della said, frowning. She’d noticed the youngest triplet’s reluctance to embrace her as his mother. Dewey and Huey were much more open about it.

“For different reasons, but yes. Decided against Game Night?”

Della nodded. “I’ll try something else.”

Mrs. Beakley smiled, but it was humorless. “Good luck.”

* * *

Lysander hadn’t anticipated Webby’s hostility. He hadn’t expected her to welcome him with open arms, but he would have thought she’d be more receptive to a possible sibling. He hadn’t realized she felt threatened by it. Though he’d left McDuck Manor, he hadn’t traveled too far. He could still see it if he turned his head; it loomed large over Duckburg. 

Shoving his hands into his jeans pockets, he stared at the manor. If not for Webby, he would have obtained an invitation to stay there. Then again, without Webby, he wouldn’t have been permitted access. He probably could have used a line to Steelbeak too but he didn’t see the point. Steelbeak wouldn’t acknowledge him as a possible heir if he didn’t know he existed. And, as Webby had so astutely pointed out, he had no proof beyond what his aunt and uncle had told him.

He believed he was his son. The belief wasn’t enough. He’d need to get to Steelbeak and force him to confess or else procure a DNA test. The latter would take too long. He’d have to bring himself to Steelbeak’s attention, get him to admit he’d had liaisons with other women besides Wren and then cop to the possibility of Lysander’s existence. That was all he needed, he thought. 

How to procure it was another question. He had no doubt Webby knew how to get in contact with him, but she’d never share it with him. Webby’s mother and grandmother also had access, but they wouldn’t share either. Ex-SHUSH agents were such a pain in the butt. 

It all revolved needing entrance to the manor and not getting it. There had to be a way to sneak in. After all, he knew Webby must have snuck out at some point. No FOWL agent worth their salt would have remained cooped up in a SHUSH pen. Approaching the manor again, he studied it. It might be possible to parkour over the gate and into the yard. From there, however, he’d have to find an open window. It could be done, even if it might ruin his credibility in the short term. In the long term, he’d worry about it later. First, he needed a way to contact Steelbeak. Then he’d work on Webby.

He wasn’t sure whether proving Webby was his half-sister would endear her to him, but, in his mind, it could hardly induce more dislike. He was pretty sure he was at peak dislike from her; she’d acted like how he’d imagined Steelbeak would when meeting someone he disdained. It made him both envious and not; he wished he could have seen Steelbeak in action. At the same time, he wasn’t happy with that ire directed at him.

Lysander studied the gates and then, hoping no one was watching the security cameras, launched himself up and over the gate. He landed hard, legs spread apart, and winced. No one had seen that. Satisfied, he scurried up toward the house and studied it. It looked like a window in the northernmost tower was open, perhaps to let in the breeze. Today felt stifling and Mr. McDuck was probably pretty stingy when it came to cooling the manor, especially if he thought it’d save him a pretty penny or two.

He doubted he’d have to tangle with the tycoon. Scrambling up the wall like a monkey, he attained the windowsill and gazed into the room. It looked empty. Could he have been so lucky? It also looked like a girl’s room, which meant it had to be Webby’s. Webby wouldn’t have been so foolish as to leave the window open and the phone number written where he could find it, would she? That would be awfully sloppy, especially as the granddaughter of a SHUSH agent and the daughter of a FOWL head. No, he didn’t see that happening.

That begged the question of where she was. He poked his head in and nearly lost his grip when she surfaced from beneath the windowsill.

“Pink, you’re gonna give him a heart attack,” Lena said and this time, Lysander really did lose his grip. Only Webby’s hand on his wrist kept him from tumbling, possibly to his death. He was suddenly aware of how precarious his situation was. If Webby released him, he’d break his neck. The thought must have occurred to her too. She held his life in her hands. This was _not _what he’d envisioned. Why was nothing going according to plan?

“What do you think you’re doing?” Webby demanded coldly. “Talk fast, before I decide to let go.”

“You know, I think this is what your grandmother meant she told you to stop,” Lena said, looking worried. She stood behind Webby. 

“Granny’s not here,” Webby scoffed. “I caught him trying to sneak into McDuck Manor. I’m within my rights to do _something_.”

His heart thudded between his ribs. She loosened her grip, experimentally, and Lysander gasped, flailing around in the open air. He swung his body around and grabbed the windowsill with his left hand. Webby casually batted it away. 

“Are you trying to kill me?!” he demanded, his voice high and rough to his ears. “Webby, let me up!”

“You got up here. You can get back down,” Webby remarked. 

“Not if you drop me,” he objected. 

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Webby!” he yelped. She couldn’t be this cruel. Oh, wait, she was Steelbeak’s daughter and raised by him. It was within the realm of possibility. His stomach lurched. She was like a cat toying with a mouse. He needed to change the situation’s dynamic; she had too much control.

Getting his legs back onto the stone, he sprang upward and Webby slammed him into the floor. He was no longer dangling precariously, but she’d knocked the breath out of him and her knee was digging into his stomach. He ought to be grateful she hadn’t kneed him in the groin, perhaps. The feral look in her eyes suggested she was entirely capable. 

“There. You’re in. Are you happy?” Webby spat.

Lena looked on, her expression impassive. He wasn’t getting any help from that quarter, that was for sure. Then again, had he really expected any? She was Webby’s best friend, not his ally.

“You weren’t going to kill me, were you?” he asked when she moved and let him sit up.

Webby scowled, not answering. She was letting him draw his own conclusions, then. It was a tactic FOWL taught and it left him uneasier. He wasn’t sure how much truth he was going to drag out of her and this was a fool’s errand if she was here, guarding the fortress.

“I need to talk to Steelbeak and you do too,” he said, deciding not to bandy words. “You know you do or you wouldn’t have let me in.”

“I let you in because I didn’t feel like explaining the alternative,” she snapped.

“Webby…” Lena said. Webby held up a hand. She didn’t care to explain herself to Lena, though Lysander had the impression this wasn’t all that was going on. She just didn’t want to reveal any weakness before him, which was understandable given the circumstances.

“You have a way to contact him. I know you do. You must.”

“So what if I do?” she countered, putting her hands on her hips. “That doesn’t mean anything. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m divulging that to you.”

He sighed. She was difficult. He had expected this much, at least. FOWL wouldn’t have trained her to be open with her feelings or helpful. He’d have thought a year here might have weakened her defenses, but he’d raised them up again. Despite himself, he smiled. He preferred a defensive Webby to a weak one.

“You want to ask him the truth too,” he charged. “You need to know just as badly as I do.”

Webby’s eyes narrowed. “I know where he is. And I know how to get there. I also have his phone number. But I can’t dial it anywhere in the house without Granny or Mom tracing it back to me. If we’re going to do this properly, then…”

She scoffed, clearly disgusted. “I’m going to need your help.”

Lysander smiled but knew it didn’t reach his eyes. Her reciprocating smile was likewise empty. Lena glanced from one of them to the other and then winced. Webby put a hand on Lena’s arm and squeezed it. She looked like she wanted to say something, but, again, didn’t dare in front of Lysander.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Lysander asked. “Let’s go.”

“Yes,” Webby agreed, her tone icy. “Let’s go.”


	5. Chapter 5

The wind had turned chilly and Webby was bundled up beneath her pink hoodie. She’d shoved the hood low over her eyes and had knives concealed about her person. After a fruitless search of Wren’s apartment and an unsuccessful raid on Agent 22’s room, Webby and Lysander had decided to take the bus to see Steelbeak. Webby had flat-out refused to let the triplets come, citing safety risks. Of course, because the boys were nothing if not stubborn, Dewey had overridden her. Lysander knew she feared to lose them and wasn’t happy about Dewey coming. It was one of the many reasons she was now walking around with pilfered knives again. 

Lena was there too because “I’m not letting you do this alone, pink.” Lysander stood apart from them while they waited for the bus. Webby was stoic, her body tense as a plucked string. Dewey was rambling, which Lysander tuned out, and Lena was watching her best friend carefully. 

Lysander reviewed all he knew about Steelbeak. Number one, he was the nominal head of FOWL. The shadowy figures issuing orders were the real heads, but no one knew who they were, not even Webby despite being Steelbeak’s heir.

Number two--Steelbeak was a philanderer. He’d had affairs with numerous women over the past decade, which was why it was surprising more children hadn’t come forward. Then again, he didn’t know how many of those women had brought an egg to term. Of Steelbeak’s affairs, Webby only knew about Wren and the woman she’d walked in on. Unless Lysander jogged Steelbeak’s memory, he probably wouldn’t recall which of the bevy of women had brought Lysander into this world. 

Number three--Steelbeak was ruthless. He took what he wanted and he discarded the rest. Lysander had to believe that if Steelbeak had known about him, he would have prioritized him over Webby. The male heir, after all, superseded the female heir.

He wasn’t about to suggest that to her, however. Webby already disliked him. He didn’t need to give her more ammunition. Plus, with two of her friends around her, he was outnumbered. Dewey might not swing a punch at him--he didn’t look like the type--but he would probably defend Webby staunchly. Lena, on the other hand, _would _probably punch him.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. It took all of his self-control not to bounce on his heels or rock back and forth. They’d given Agent 22 and Wren the slip, but for how long, he didn’t know. He knew they didn’t sanction this trip and he knew they probably had a vague idea of what was going on. Webby might have snuck out, but Agent 22’s well-deserved paranoia after losing Webby once would have had her keeping tabs on her regardless.

Dewey’s rambling trickled to a stop in time for the bus to arrive. Webby swallowed hard and reached for his hand. Dewey gave it to her and together, the trio ascended the stairs, leaving Lysander to shuffle along behind. Where Webby had obtained the fare for all three of them, he didn’t know. Lysander suspected she had stolen it. After all, one of Steelbeak’s maxims was “anything worth getting is worth stealing”. 

They shuffled along to the back of the bus. Webby, Dewey, and Lena took one bench and Lysander sat on the one across the aisle. He hadn’t expected Webby to sit with him, though he was also detecting an obvious “us versus them” mentality. It made him lonely. He wanted to supplant Webby, sure, but she was the only person he knew who knew Steelbeak, who had been both a mystery and a menace to him. And she didn’t want to talk about her father, despite their traveling to see him.

They would have to switch buses and grab the penal bus once they arrived in Cape Suzette. Normal bus routes did not extend to jails. Lysander’s stomach flip-flopped and he looked out the window, half expecting to see Agent 22 and Webby’s mother en route. 

“Where do you think Agent 22 is?” he asked, breaking the silence. Webby shrugged.

“Oh, I left Granny doing housework,” Webby said. “But...she’s probably there waiting for us at the jail.”

“Are you sure?” Lena asked and Webby nodded.

“Yeah, no, she’s been pretty up on where I’ve been going lately,” Webby confessed. “And with that jerk’s appearance, she probably figured I wanted to talk to Dad. Steelbeak. Not Dad.”

Lysander tried to imagine Steelbeak as the warm, cuddly type who encouraged Webby to call him “Dad”, but he couldn’t see it. Call him skeptical, but he doubted Steelbeak would open up to anyone, even his own flesh and blood. Yet wasn’t that what Lysander was attempting here? To force a confession? 

“You don’t think she’ll try to stop us, do you?” Lena asked, in the tone of someone who didn’t intend to let anyone stop her. 

“She’ll probably let us talk to him,” Webby said, sounding uncertain. “But I don’t know for how long before she intervenes.”

That was a happy thought. Lysander grimaced, turning to look at Dewey, who’d been silent. Dewey had taken Webby’s hand and you’d have to be blind to miss the affectionate gaze he gave her. Lysander felt sullen just watching that. No one cared for him that way. No one had even noticed when he’d run away from his aunt and uncle’s house to seek Steelbeak. As far as he knew, they were happy he was gone. They’d always resented having to take care of him.

Their constant ridicule had been part of what had prompted him to leave. He’d hoped to find a home with FOWL or be welcomed somewhere. Like Webby, in his previous home, he’d never really experienced love and affection. It always came with strings attached. 

“What about you, red?” Lena asked and Lysander was startled to discover she was asking him. He stared at her quizzically and she stared back. 

“You don’t have anyone riding you or asking where you are?” Lena queried. 

“My aunt and uncle probably don’t give a shit,” Lysander said. “I’ve been gone for two weeks and they haven’t even tried to get in touch with me. They’re probably glad I flew the coop.”

Webby watched him closely but didn’t comment. Instead, she huffed, folding her arms across her chest and staring out the window. It hadn’t earned her sympathy, but he hadn’t expected it to. Webby was a tough nut to crack.

“My mom flew the coop, but she came back. She spent ten years trying to get back to us,” Dewey said. 

“Lucky you,” Lysander spat. 

“I guess…” Dewey said. “I love that she’s back. And she’s pretty awesome.”

“Doesn’t explain why she took the _Spear _in the first place,” Webby muttered.

“I’m sure she’ll tell us sooner or later,” Dewey said, though he sounded less than positive. Dewey squeezed Webby’s hand. “Hey, Webs?”

“Hmm?” she asked. 

“Our stop is coming up soon. Uncle Donald was going to move us to Cape Suzette when he had that falling out with Uncle Scrooge but changed his mind. The rents in that place are too high.”

Webby’s beak quirked. “Must be all that singing. It drives the price up.”

“Huh?” Dewey said and Lena smirked. 

“Never mind,” Webby said, smirking back. The bus stopped and they filed off, walking another twenty minutes or so until they found the next bus terminal. This one they were early, which was good, because it only ran twice a day and only on specific days of the week. 

“So, pink, you nervous?” Lena asked. Lysander couldn’t tell if she was teasing or not.

“Yeah, right,” Webby scoffed. “I laugh in the face of adversity. Ha!”

In an undertone, Lena replied, “He’s gonna try to trick you, you know.”

Webby’s facade wilted. “I know. But I have to find out the truth.”

“And what makes you think he’s going to tell you?” Lena pointed out. 

“If he doesn’t, we’ll turn around and leave,” Dewey said. He scowled. “Right, Webby?”

When Webby didn’t respond, Dewey spoke louder. “_Right_, Webby?”

“Right,” Webby said faintly. She turned to Lysander and said, her eyes narrowed, “I doubt he’ll acknowledge you as his son. So just be ready for anything.”

“Oh, I am,” he assured her. In truth, he hadn’t pictured anything but Steelbeak proclaiming he must be his son. It wasn’t that he didn’t visualize failure, but that he refused to admit it could be a possibility. It was one of the few things that had gotten him through his long trip to Duckburg. He hadn’t lived in Calisota, after all.

“You don’t sound like you are,” Lena scoffed.

“I am!” Lysander said and glowered. She was trying to get under his skin and he wasn’t going to let her. Bothersome shadow.

“Sure you are,” Lena said.

“Would you just mind your own business?” Lysander growled.

“No,” Lena said. “You made it Webby’s business, which means it’s now _my _business. Deal with it. And you’re awfully touchy for someone who’s convinced Steelbeak is going to acknowledge him. What’s the matter? Scared?”

“Of course not,” he snapped. “Quit riding me.”

“Oh,” Lena said and her eyes sparkled maliciously. “I haven’t started yet. You’ll know when I’m riding you.”

They had another forty-five minutes to wait for the bus. Another three-quarter of an hour of this. He couldn’t wait.

* * *

It would have been faster if Webby had asked Launchpad to drive her there. Faster, yes, but unlikely to happen. As it was, Mrs. Beakley was en route to the jail. Mrs. Beakley stared out the window and then sighed, spotting the bus stop where the four children stood. Lysander looked aggrieved, Lena protective, Webby had a blank face, and Dewey was just confused. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.

“Launchpad, pull over,” she instructed. “We need to pick them up.”

“Are we still going to the jail, Mrs. B?” he asked as he complied. He nearly ran the car up on the curb and Mrs. Beakley rolled her eyes. Perhaps she should have just been glad that he hadn’t rammed into the bus stop. That would’ve been just like him.

“Yes,” she said and suppressed a sigh. “It’s the only way to get the truth if Steelbeak even believes in such a thing.”

Launchpad got out and opened the rear doors for the kids, who filed in. Lysander was the last one and looked distrustfully at her. Then again, she supposed he was still calling her “Agent 22”. It had taken forever to break Webby of the habit. Thinking about her granddaughter induced a hard lump in her throat and she pulled Webby close to her. 

“Granny, I’m okay,” Webby protested. “Nothing happened.”

“Other than Lysander being an idiot,” Lena supplied and Webby smirked. 

“You’re taking us back to Duckburg, aren’t you?” Lysander asked, sulky.

“Oh, no, we’re going to Cape Suzette’s jail,” Mrs. Beakley reassured him. “You’re going to have it straight from the rooster’s beak, assuming he bothers to tell the truth, which I doubt he will.”

“And if he doesn’t?” Lysander said. He put on a brave face, but she could tell he was afraid.

“Then we’ll have to resort to extreme measures,” she replied. “Whatever those may be.”

“Thanks for picking us up,” Dewey called as Launchpad got back behind the wheel. 

“No problem,” Launchpad replied. “I was wondering about you guys walking around going to jail.”

“We would have been fine,” Lysander grumped.

“So you tell yourself,” Mrs. Beakley said. Lysander’s eyes flashed, but he maintained the proper respect for an enemy agent. That is to say, he purported himself with dignity, but she could tell he loathed her. If anything, it made Webby more protective as a result. Mrs. Beakley didn’t roll her eyes, though the day she needed a child’s protection would be the day she hung up her SHUSH things for good.

“So I know,” Lysander snapped. “I can handle myself.”

Mrs. Beakley was unimpressed, but she thought it best not to needle him further. Lena had probably done a good job of that already. Speaking of which, she was proud of Lena for being so loyal. She had shown herself to be nothing like Magica de Spell, which was a relief. Then again, Webby had shown Lena kindness for the first time in her life, so she was bound to her. Perhaps a little too closely, but Mrs. Beakley would worry about that later if it turned troubling. 

“You’re coming in with us, aren’t you, Granny?” Webby asked, startling Mrs. Beakley out of her thoughts.

“Of course I am, dear,” Mrs. Beakley assured her. “I wouldn’t trust that rooster as far as I could throw him.”

* * *

  
  
Steelbeak was pleasantly surprised to hear he had visitors and even more surprised to learn that one of them was Webbigail. He was only allowed three visitors at once and so had anticipated Mrs. Beakley/Agent 22 to meddle. It was what she did best, no matter how vexing it proved to be. No matter how many times he swore that this was the last time he’d see her, there she was, like an insect he couldn’t squish. She wouldn’t leave him alone with Webby, because she knew what would happen. And Steelbeak was quite sure that if he had five minutes alone with his daughter, he could sway her back and return her to the FOWL fold. It was only a matter of time until she returned. Agent 22 was deluding herself if she thought otherwise.

What was curious was that they’d brought along another child, one he didn’t recognize. If Steelbeak had a moveable beak, it would have curled in disdain. 

“Who’s the scrawny waste of life?” Steelbeak sneered. “If you’re thinking of dating my daughter, better think again, pal. I’m only here to make Cape Suzette look good.”

“I’m your son,” the boy said, thrusting out his beak defiantly. Steelbeak burst out laughing. 

“This? This little nothing, this little whelp, is my son?” Steelbeak said and laughed harder. “You expect me to buy that? I didn’t know you were into jokes, Agent 22.”

“My aunt and uncle say you are and I believe them,” the boy said stubbornly.

“And who are your aunt and uncle? The king and queen of crap? Because there’s no way in hell you’re my flesh and blood. Webs here, Webs is my daughter.”

Webby flinched. “Where did you hear that nickname?”

“You like it?” Steelbeak smirked. “I might’ve heard it around someplace. Maybe from a couple of kids.”

“Webby?” Mrs. Beakley murmured and Webby shook her head. Steelbeak grinned. That was his little girl, keeping anyone from seeing her vulnerable. Of course, she hadn’t been doing very well in that lately.

“Got a bone to pick with you, Webs,” Steelbeak said. “What have I told you about making friends? They’re good for nothing because mercy is a weakness. And you’ve been showing them a lot of mercy lately, ain’t you?”

Webby balled her fists and Steelbeak’s gaze flew to her hips. He laughed again.

“You tried to sneak knives into the jail, didn’t you? That’s my girl.”

“She is not ‘your girl’,” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “Any more than she is property of FOWL. We are here to determine Lysander’s parentage.”

“That’s another thing. Why would I pick such a lame name as ‘Lysander’? Who names their kid that?” Steelbeak scoffed. He stared hungrily at Webby. “Hey, Webs.”

Every time he said that nickname, she froze. Of course, he knew who had been calling her that. She was getting soft.

“You mind letting those two out of your sight and you and I can have a real conversation?” Steelbeak asked. “Rooster to duckling? Just cut out the middleman.”

“I am never letting you speak in private with Webby again, so you can forget it,” Agent 22 spat. 

Steelbeak scoffed. He had eyes only for Webby, even when Lysander cleared his throat. 

“It’s possible, isn’t it, that I’m your kid?” Lysander pressed.

“Sure, anything’s possible. I could break outta here in a couple of days and fly the coop, so to speak. Take my girls and go,” Steelbeak said and grinned widely at Agent 22’s dismay. “But I’m not gonna. And I’m not acknowledging a little pipsqueak like you. You’re not my heir. You’re never gonna be my heir. Quit the delusions of grandeur, kid. You’re too tiny to wear that crown.”

“I’m your son,” Lysander snapped, squaring his beak and glaring at Steelbeak. “I know I am. I feel it in my gut.”

Steelbeak’s eyes narrowed. This kid was not getting the message. He was also starting to get on his nerves. Bad things happened to people who pissed him off. 

“Look, kid, let’s say hypothetically you are. What do I care? You’re not getting squat from me. Webby is my heir. Webby is the one I trained. Let me spell it out for you--Webby. Is the. Only. Kid. I. Care. About.”

Lysander’s eyes narrowed. “You could train me. You could make me your heir.”

“What’s the word I’m looking for? _No_. It’s Webby or nothing, Listerine, and you’re lower than nothing.”

Steelbeak gazed at Webby. “Come back here alone some time. Let’s you and I have a talk about priorities without the entourage. Capiche?”

“That is not happening,” Agent 22 snapped. “We’re leaving. Now.”

“You’re never going to fit in with them, you know,” Steelbeak said, ignoring her. “They may act all chummy with you, but one of these days, you’ll do something or say something that they won’t forgive. There’s no such thing as unconditional love, Webs. Everything comes with strings attached. Better be with the devil you know than the grandmother SHUSH agent you don’t.”

“I know my Granny,” Webby said and her eyes blazed defiance. 

“You think you know her,” he corrected. “But anyone could manipulate you. At least when I did it, you knew I was doing it. Can you say the same for her?”

“I am not manipulating Webbigail!” Agent 22 snapped, bristling. 

“Just think about it, Webs,” he implored. “Think about what the others would have to gain by keeping you around. That’s all life is; it’s a giant equation. Make sure you’re on the right side.”

Mrs. Beakley guided her granddaughter and the imposter out. Steelbeak smirked. Webby might deny it now, but the seed had been planted. All she needed was for doubt to spread and he’d have her eventually. It was like hooking a fish. Now came the waiting.

* * *

“I could have warned you that he’d react like that, but I doubt you would have listened to me,” Agent 22 said. Lysander glowered. He had to prove himself to Steelbeak. It was that obvious. 

He couldn’t take down Webby. Webby was untouchable. No, what he needed to do was accomplish something no one had ever done before. Unearth the heads of FOWL, maybe. Or bring the Duck brats back. That would prompt Webby to run after them and bring her back under FOWL’s control. Steelbeak would be thanking him. 

* * *

  
  
Webby was quiet on the ride home. Lena had attempted to cajole her into conversation with little result. Dewey was worried about her too. Webby became withdrawn and uncommunicative when she was upset. Since he couldn’t enter the jail with Mrs. Beakley, Webby, and Lysander, he didn’t know what was said. Clearly, something unpleasant.

“Webs,” Dewey pleaded and Webby flinched. 

“Come on, talk to us.”

Webby huffed. They’d given her back her knives and her hands rested on them. That boded ill and his stomach clenched. She was feeling threatened and he put his hand on her wrist. She hissed and then let out a slow, shaky breath.

“Sorry, Dewey,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“What did Steelbeak say that wound you up so tight?” Lena demanded. They were approaching Duckburg now and Webby was tense. He wanted to squeeze her hand, but she’d flinched when he’d touched her. The last time she’d done that had been months ago and he was surprised to discover it hurt.

They were ignoring Lysander and Dewey glanced at him. Lysander scowled.

“He won’t acknowledge me as his son,” Lysander snapped. “Says that Webby is his one and only heir.”

“That’s not it, though, is it, pink?” Lena asked and Webby jerked her head ‘no’.

“I’ll talk about it later,” Webby said, shooting Lysander a dirty look. “When we’re alone.”

“Bit too late to worry about looking weak, isn’t it?” Lysander said. Webby’s eyes flashed. 

“Bit too late to keep claiming you’re Steelbeak’s son, isn’t it?” she shot back.

“Children,” Mrs. Beakley reprimanded and Webby huffed.

“Sorry, Granny,” Webby said, the picture of contrition if not actually contrite.

“Sorry, Agent 22,” Lysander said snidely. Webby’s eyes flashed again.

“You’ll show her respect,” Webby snapped.

“Webby, it’s all right,” Mrs. Beakley said, suppressing a sigh. “I can fight my own battles, child.”

“I’ll be watching you,” Webby warned, glaring at Lysander.

Mrs. Beakley grimaced. “Children, please. Webbigail, I understand your desire not to tell your friends until later. Lysander, I understand you distrust me, but I would appreciate the benefit of the doubt.”

Lysander grumbled, not meeting her gaze, which Dewey thought was rude. Webby must’ve agreed because she bristled again and Dewey reached for her hand again. It was warm beneath his and he intertwined their fingers. He offered her a small smile she didn’t reciprocate. 

“C’mon, Webs. We’re the good guys here,” Dewey said.

“I know…” she said and grimaced. They were pulling up to McDuck Manor, to Webby’s obvious relief, and Launchpad crashed into the gate. Mrs. Beakley groaned and only Lysander looked surprised that they’d stopped because of inertia and not from braking.

“Everyone out,” Mrs. Beakley said primly and frowned at Lysander. “Launchpad can take you home if you want.”

Lysander gritted his teeth and said in an undertone, “I kinda don’t have a place to stay.”

“Again, are we really taking in all the orphans and ne’er do wells in Duckburg?” Lena snapped. “Because I might’ve been Aunt Magica’s pawn, but this kid is a whole other box full of snakes.”

“I don’t want him in the house,” Webby snapped. 

“And where would you rather he stayed, Webbigail?” Mrs. Beakley said primly.

Webby muttered something that sounded unpleasantly like “at the bottom of a ditch”, though Dewey could’ve been wrong.

“We have too many people here already,” Webby said pointedly. Dewey didn’t get it, though Lena seemed to, because the girls exchanged looks.

“No, we don’t,” Dewey said. “I mean, it’s just us, Mom, Uncle Scrooge, and Mrs. B. Launchpad lives in the garage. We totally have room for someone else.”

“No, we don’t,” Webby said. She was trying to imply something, but he wasn’t picking it up. 

“Yeah, we do,” Dewey said.

“I’ll see if I can get Mr. McDuck to spring for a room at a hotel for you,” Mrs. Beakley offered as a concession. “Assuming that he isn’t obsessed with that preposterous bet.”

Webby nodded, seemingly willing to accept the compromise.

“But what about--” Dewey stopped, cut off.

“He’ll be fine,” Webby said in a poisonous voice. She glowered at Lysander as she said that. “He’ll be perfectly fine.”

Lysander cast Dewey a shrewd look he didn’t much care for and Dewey sidled closer to Webby. 

“In the meantime, I suppose you should come in with us,” Mrs. Beakley said. “Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

“Don’t even think about touching anything,” Webby snapped. 

Lena casually cracked her knuckles and smirked at Lysander, who grimaced. Dewey felt sorry for him, though he knew he was in the minority.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Della and Webby bond, Lysander's relatives are worse than advertised, and something in the Other Bin wants out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy early Thanksgiving! 
> 
> This was a little longer than usual, if only because I had random inspiration toward the end. I also wanted a different villain--I’m trying to branch out. 
> 
> So, I legit had a dream last night that Wren was Steelbeak's concubine. And she was a dark feathered bird, like Latinx. 
> 
> Oh, and I wrote a fanfic based on that dream. I can post it, if you want. :P I have...quite a few chapters written already. -_-

Webby hadn’t been allowed in Scrooge’s office. Folding her arms across her chest, she walked away and told Dewey and Lena to leave her alone. It felt like she needed a lot more space lately than she had before. Lysander was bringing out the worst in her. She’d even spurned her mother’s attention and taken to pacing in her room. 

Lysander wanted to be the heir so badly she wanted to spit at him to take it. Steelbeak wouldn’t grant it to him. It would’ve been perfect--he could’ve been the heir and Steelbeak would leave her the hell alone. He’d attempted to manipulate her again. She clenched and relaxed her fists. She was so sick of being one of his tools.

She imagined herself back at FOWL HQ, this time without Black Heron. No one would respect her at HQ anymore, not after she’d “turned”. She wasn’t working with SHUSH, but she might as well be for betraying her father. They wouldn’t have forgiven her. She would have had to claw her way back up to the top. It wasn’t something she wanted, she told herself. She’d rather be dead than the heir.

At times, she wouldn’t deny that she’d envisioned herself as leading FOWL, if only because she’d lacked the motivation to be more creative. She had also wondered whether reincarnation would mean retaining any of her old memories. Of course, she’d never kill herself. But it was something to think about, regardless.

When they’d returned to the manor, she’d promised her grandmother she’d return the knives. She hadn’t yet. She fully intended to do so, though she was nebulous on the timeframe. Stroking the blades reminded her that the original ones, Pinchy and Stabby, were locked inside the Other Bin. Thus far, she’d divined that the numbers referred to key moments within Scrooge’s life, but that didn’t explain where he’d stashed them. There had to be another numbering system at play here.

She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about hunting around in the Other Bin, but now might be a good time to go. Her grandmother was distracted and she knew how to get in. As for where the triplets and Lena might be, Webby didn’t know and, in truth, she didn’t want to know. She wanted to be alone.

Creeping down the stairs, she opened her door and poked her head outside. That was one thing she missed about having love beads at her doorway. She could always tell when someone was coming. Now, it was hit or miss.

Judging the coast was clear, she stepped cautiously into the hallway and then headed for the Other Bin. Her phone vibrated in her pocket and she sighed, putting it on silent. Sometimes, she didn’t think that the triplets got the hint, especially Dewey. Dewey, then again, never really had alone time with two brothers. So, maybe this was an only child thing.

The Other Bin was empty when she reached it, as she had expected it to be. No one was creeping up on her; this time, she was aware of everything. Just in case, she closed the door behind her, only after checking that she wouldn’t be locked in here too. 

Thanks to a book she’d discovered in the library detailing Scrooge’s exploits, she thought she had the important dates marked off so she wouldn’t stumble upon anything potentially hazardous. She couldn’t pick doors at random and hope for the best--that would take too long. Instead, she’d established a system. Anything that wasn’t clearly delineated in her outline was suspect and therefore, merited closer investigation. 

Della. She’d accounted for everyone in the house except Della Duck. Webby cursed. She hadn’t bothered to check where Della was because she’d been so focused on Lysander. Della could be anywhere in the manor. She might even be in the Other Bin with Webby. Webby cursed again. Should she wait until she knew the coast was clear? Or should she continue her search regardless? She might never get another opportunity like this again.

If Della Duck had any sense, she’d avoid a prepubescent girl with knives. Then again, if Della had any sense, she wouldn’t have ended up stranded on the moon for ten years. Webby muttered darkly to herself as she selected her first door. She didn’t know what she was expecting, perhaps a drab room, but what she saw wasn’t it.

Unicorns pranced around in a field with rainbows and for a few seconds, Webby was entranced. She’d never seen a sword horse up close and hadn’t believed they were real. Steelbeak had scoffed when she’d gone through her unicorn phase and Black Heron had taken particular delight in pretending they were eating unicorn meat. Webby had stopped calling them “unicorns” as a result. Sword horse sounded more badass and it also made her think one of them could run Black Heron through. She remembered that she’d killed Black Heron herself a year ago and shivered, rubbing her arms.

The unicorns turned as one to face her and Webby yelped, slamming the door in their beautiful faces. The door must have provided a barrier because they didn’t even slam into it. She couldn’t hear them snorting or neighing, either. If she hadn’t known they were there, she would have never thought about it. 

That was one door down. Webby moved onto the next on her list. When she opened it, it revealed a bucolic scene, verdant grass swaying in a gentle breeze near a sandy beach where a couple of coconuts had fallen. Webby stared, wondering what this was doing here. Then she heard singing. The song was beautiful, promising to take away all her worries. A head popped up above the water and Webby froze. 

“Hello, Webbigail…” the woman said, her long hair flowing around her in the water. Her feathers were white and pristine despite having been dunked in the ocean. When she pushed herself ashore, she was naked. That wasn’t what had drawn Webby’s gaze. It was that even while she was moving, the woman had continued singing.

Webby clapped her hands over her ears. Either the woman was a kelpie in duck form or she was a siren. She didn’t know or care which. Heart pounding, she slammed the door and then leaned against it, panting. How had Scrooge trapped another mythological creature in here? Was this whole Bin full of them? Damn, all she wanted were her knives. This felt like an unnecessary amount of work.

She opened another door and then yelped, shutting it just as quickly. It was the dreamcatcher. No, she wanted no part of that. She’d already lived her worst nightmares, as had Lena. 

She opened another door a few down from that one and Black Heron loomed, bleeding profusely and looking homicidal. Webby screamed, her knees weakening. She barely managed to get the door closed in time and Black Heron’s mechanical arm snaked around the door to force it open. Webby tried to push it closed again, but she lacked the strength.

This was it. Black Heron would show up and break her way back into Webby’s life. She’d never be free of her. FOWL would return and Webby knew she’d been lucky the last time. She wouldn’t be so this time. She couldn’t even stand. 

Della Duck bellowed war cries and raced down the hallway, wielding a hammer, and slammed it into Black Heron’s arm. She battered it and kicked Black Heron back until she lost her grip. This version of Heron seemed weaker than the normal one, which Webby noticed distractedly. Then again, she couldn’t use the limbs Webby had immobilized and her neck was at an odd angle. A scream built up in Webby’s lungs.

After a minute of struggle, Della managed to send Black Heron back to the hell from which she’d come. Webby’s chest heaved and she swiped at her cheeks. She sobbed and hugged herself. She never thought she’d see Black Heron again. She wished she hadn’t.

“Woah, are you okay, kid?” Della said and knelt at her side. “Your mom said you might be in here trying to find your knives. I know everyone else is busy, so I came looking for you.”

Webby didn’t know how to parse that. She swiped at her cheeks. Weakness, she was showing weakness in front of someone she disliked. Webby bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to stem the flow of tears. She could master herself. She’d done so before thanks to Black Heron. Black Heron…

She turned her haunted gaze upon Della.

“No, you’re not,” Della answered and drew Webby into a tight hug. “Shoosh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just take a deep breath and relax, Webby.”

With effort, she pushed herself to calm down. She slowed her breathing and glanced up at Della.

“Why are you here?” Webby asked. “I thought...”

“You’re the boys’ best friend,” Della said. “I have to look out for you too, even if you don’t like me. Especially because I know you don’t like me. I had a roommate back on the moon who swore she hated me, but I knew she didn’t, deep down. Just like I know you don’t.

“You don’t like any change. And you think I’m going to take the boys away from you. I promise you, I’m not. And I’ll do whatever it takes to earn your trust too. 

“I’m new to this ‘mom’ thing, but I’ll get it,” Della said and smoothed Webby’s hair back. “Now, do you want to go back to the rest of the manor?”

“I want my knives,” Webby muttered and then looked up at the warehouse surrounding them. It was daunting and the quest was probably impossible. Her shoulders slumped. 

“But, okay, I guess we can go back,” Webby conceded.

Della helped Webby up and, for a few minutes, they walked in silence. Webby shivered.

“What was that? We already beat the dreamcatcher, so, how could Black Heron be there?” Webby asked.

“My guess is that one room shows you your nightmares and the other one shows you your deepest fears,” Della said. “Sometimes, they’re not the same thing.”

Webby didn’t see how that could be so, but she wasn’t about to argue. She had nothing left in her with which to do so. Docile for the time being, she permitted Della to lead her back to the manor proper. She’d find out what was going on with Lysander, one way or another.

* * *

  
  
Lysander glared, wondering when this ridiculous show would be over. It wasn’t like he had anything else to do. He was sick of standing here while other people discussed his fate. 

”We cannae keep him here,” Scrooge argued, albeit gently, trying not to hurt Lysander’s feelings. Lysander was beyond that. He stood, sullen and unappreciative. 

“We have enough on our plate with Della returning and Webbigail…” Scrooge paused, as if wary of approaching a taboo subject. Lysander bit his tongue. He wasn’t here to make observations. He was here to endear himself to them, so they wouldn’t throw him out. Sleeping under the bridge last night had sucked, no lie.

“And if he runs back to Steelbeak?” Mrs. Beakley retorted and Lysander bristled. They were still talking like he wasn’t present. 

“They won’t let me back in, remember?” Lysander said bitterly. It wasn’t fair that Webby had the right to visit Steelbeak and Lysander didn’t. “The only reason they did was that I was with you and Webby.”

“You donnae want to call your aunt and uncle and tell them where you are, do ye, lad?” Scrooge asked kindly and Lysander scowled.

“They don’t care,” he said flatly. “They probably haven’t even noticed I’m gone.”

Scrooge scowled too. “Why don’t we give them a call and find out?”

“Whatever,” Lysander said, shoving his hands into his pockets. He gave them the number. Chances were his relatives wouldn’t pick up. If they did, they certainly weren’t losing any sleep over Lysander’s whereabouts.

He could’ve given them a fake number, had considered it for a minute, but to what purpose? Besides Agent 22 would probably have sniffed it out. She was unerringly good at that.

The phone rang several times. Lysander wondered whether it said “private” or “unknown” on the caller ID. If it did, his relatives weren’t going to answer. They distrusted people in general and even if Scrooge’s name did flash on the screen, they would have thought it was a scam. Lysander wouldn’t have believed it either if he weren’t in McDuck Manor.

At long last, someone decided to answer the phone. Lysander was both surprised and disappointed. He had been hoping it would go to voicemail, but perhaps his aunt’s eternal curiosity had gotten the better of her. 

“Yes?” she snapped, sounding as if she wanted to eviscerate the person on the other end. Lysander winced. He’d been on the receiving end of that tone more than a few times.

“This is Scrooge McDuck, of McDuck Enterprises,” Scrooge said in his rolling Scottish accent. “I believe I have your nephew.”

There was a long pause. Clearly, knowing where her son was competed with hearing Scrooge’s voice. Everyone knew who Scrooge McDuck was, regardless of what side of the SHUSH/FOWL spectrum you fell on. His aunt must’ve been calculating what to do or say next. Lysander almost pitied Scrooge, but then again, he doubted his aunt was cannier than the old tycoon.

“And how did you happen by him?” Her voice was terse, controlled anger behind it. Lysander winced.

“He said he was looking for Steelbeak,” Scrooge said. “Ye wouldnae know anything about that, would ye?”

Another prolonged pause. Lysander avoided the temptation to shuffle from one foot to another. Agent 22 glanced at him pityingly and he scowled. He didn’t want her pity. He wanted Steelbeak’s acknowledgment. After that, this whole family could go hang. 

Or not. He sensed he’d need Webby for a while yet, even if he was terribly jealous of her. 

“Did he find him?” 

“That is immaterial!” Scrooge snapped. “Ye sent your nephew on a wild goose chase? And for what? He should come home.”

A pregnant pause. Lysander bit the inside of his cheek. He did not like the sound of this. Willing his attention elsewhere, he let his gaze sweep over the accolades that Scrooge had accrued and mementos of his family. Clearly, family was a much bigger deal to Scrooge than it was to Lysander’s relatives. 

“How much would you pay us to take him back?”

Lysander’s jaw dropped. He’d known he wasn’t worth much in their eyes, but he never thought he’d see a dollar sign attached to him. It was degrading, not to mention dehumanizing. Humiliated, he glanced up at Scrooge and Agent 22, the latter of whom was bristling, probably thinking about Webby.

Scrooge was taken aback. “He’s your nephew! Don’t ye care about him?”

“I’m sure we can reach an arrangement. You’re the richest duck in the world, after all,” his aunt purred. Scrooge looked appalled. 

“Ye put him up to looking for Steelbeak and now ye’re trying to charge me to return him? What in Dismal Downs is wrong with ye?” 

“We were saddled with the boy years ago. We might as well get some compensation for all the money we’ve doled out on him.”

Lysander uttered a strangled cry, unaware he’d done it until the two adults stared at him. His feet felt like they were glued to the floor, despite his overwhelming desire to flee. He badly wanted Scrooge to hang up now. He didn’t feel like being privy to this any longer.

“We’ll be keeping him here, then,” Scrooge snapped gruffly and hung up on his aunt before she had a chance to wheedle money out of him. 

Scrooge’s eyes narrowed. “Now, I may not trust ye, lad, but I donnae like the idea of sending you back to an abusive situation, either. O’course, ye’d be daft to try anything with Beakley around, but…”

He shrugged. 

“Webby is not going to like this,” Agent 22 warned Scrooge.

“Aye, I know,” he said and grimaced. “But I cannae let the lad wander about the streets by himself.”

“And your lack of charity wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your bet with Flintheart Glomgold, would it?” Mrs. Beakley said sharply.

“Of course not!” he snapped, feathers prickling. Lysander knew he was lying and so, too, could Agent 22. Her eyes flashed.

“I will take Lysander to a spare bedroom far from the other children and then I will have to have a word with Webbigail,” she barked. “And I will also reprogram the DT-87 bots. Just in case.”

“DT-87 bots?” Lysander repeated, baffled.

“Never you mind them,” Mrs. Beakley said primly. She opened the office door and held the door for him. “Follow me.”

He trooped past luxurious bedrooms and sitting rooms. As he did so, he caught a glimpse of the triplets and Lena. Webby was not with them. He tensed, anticipating an ambush. He was starting to understand why Webby preferred to walk around armed. You never know when an attack might come. His aunt and uncle had taught him that too.

They halted in the hall as they came upon Webby and Della Duck. Della had a hand on Webby’s shoulder and Webby tensed, hissing when she saw Lysander. Della’s grip tightened on Webby’s shoulder. She was acting like a concerned parent. Lysander was jealous; he’d never experienced that. And now she had three guardians here and one in jail. For a few seconds, he couldn’t speak; he was blinded by rage. Why didn’t Webby understand how good she had it?

“Della,” Agent 22 said. “Let me guess--you found her in the Other Bin?”

“Trying to find her knives, yes,” Della said. Though Webby hadn’t shifted away from Della, she glared at him. He glared back. 

“She still hasn’t returned the kitchen knives, I see,” Agent 22 said. 

Webby looked obstinate with her brows furrowed and a scowl. 

“Oh, no, I guess she hasn’t,” Della said, chagrined to have overlooked that. “Come on. I know where the boys are.”

Webby tensed and said in an undertone, “Can I talk to you alone? Della?”

He could tell that the nickname felt ill on her tongue. 

“Of course,” Della said and pulled Webby aside. They ducked into a nearby room and closed the door. Agent 22 watched, frowning too, and glanced at Lysander. Lysander stared back, hands on his hips and his tail flicking back and forth in irritation. Envy threatened to consume him whole. 

“Are you all right?” Agent 22 asked.

Lysander continued staring at the closed door. He would’ve given almost anything to be in that room. He drew a deep, bracing breath. Then he plastered a false smile upon his beak and nodded. Agent 22 didn’t look deceived. She put a hand on his back.

“I was sorry to hear about your aunt and uncle,” she said. “It sounds as if you had a similar upbringing to Webby.”

“She has it so good and she doesn’t even know it,” Lysander hissed, taking himself by surprise. He threw his arms open. “She has Steelbeak’s support, she has her mom, she has you, and now she even has the Ducks’ mom after her.”

He choked back the jealousy with difficulty. “All I want, all I’ve ever wanted, was a place at Steelbeak’s side.”

And Webby had it and had spurned it. It felt like everything had fallen into her lap while Lysander was stuck scrounging around for scraps. His chest was hot and tight. He didn’t want someone else’s cast-offs. Even the charity that Scrooge had shown him was secondhand, a result of his being related to Webby, only 50%.

“Why? Why is it so important?”

“Because!” he exploded. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re _SHUSH_.”

He spat the last out as though it was a curse. 

“My aunt and uncle told me my whole life that I needed to claim my birthright. That I’d only be worth something when I did.”

If he had fire powers, he would have erupted into flames right then and there. Instead, chest heaving, hot tears pricking his eyes, he glared hatefully at Agent 22. She stared back, untouched by his outburst. Or, perhaps, unsurprised. Whichever was the case, he reached for the knives that he also didn’t carry. 

“I need to prove myself to Steelbeak. Then he’ll want me.”

Then he’d love him. 

“Steelbeak wants nothing but whatever best suits him,” Mrs. Beakley said softly, gently. She squeezed his shoulder. “He will never care for you the way you need him to.”

“You don’t know that!” he spat.

“I do know that,” she said sadly. “He wants my daughter because she’s the ‘one that got away’, a conquest. He wants my granddaughter because he believes he owns her, as he helped bring her into the world. Both of them are intended to elevate him, not because he cares one whit about them.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he snapped. His options were winnowing; he could sense it. The situation was pushing him to act in the only way acceptable--the only way that might earn Steelbeak’s respect. However, if he did that, they’d throw him out of McDuck Manor and he’d earn Webby’s enmity. He didn’t know what to do. If he attacked Agent 22 and struck a mortal blow, assuming it was possible, Steelbeak might consider him. But Webby would hunt him down. He was in an impossible situation.

“Yes, I do.”

“There has to be a way to prove myself to him!” he snapped. “You’re lying. You’re the enemy, so you don’t want me to succeed!”

“Wow…” Della said, standing in the hall with Webby beside her. “You drank the Kool-Aid.”

Webby, who had been glowering, faltered. “Huh?”

“It’s an old phrase,” Della said. “A cult spiked punch with cyanide that led to mass suicide. It means clinging to a doomed or dangerous idea because you believe there’s a high reward for it.”

This stymied Lysander. “It’s not...I’m not...doomed.”

“Oh, honey,” Della said and somehow, her sympathy was worse than Agent 22’s declarations. “FOWL doesn’t care about anyone but themselves.”

“And what someone else can do for them,” Agent 22 added. “They’re not known for their altruism.”

“You want to be a pawn?” Webby asked. “Because that’s what’ll happen.”

He wanted to tell her that she was lying too, except he knew she wasn’t. Of the three of them, she alone knew what it was like to be in thrall to FOWL. Still, he refused to accept it. He refused to accept that the only idea that had given him solace after the beatings, the verbal and emotional abuse, was impossible. Steelbeak would take him under his wing and he would raise him up. 

He was confused and his head hurt. The best thing to do, for now, would be to agree with them and then work out his own plan. 

“I believe we need to have a good, long conversation,” Agent 22 said. 

“He won’t believe you,” Webby scoffed. “He still doesn’t believe it’s true, even after seeing it for himself.”

“Sounds familiar, somehow,” Mrs. Beakley muttered and Webby flushed. 

“Just show me to my room,” he said and then, almost as an afterthought, added, “Please.”

Della and Agent 22 exchanged a look and Mrs. Beakley returned to steering him toward a vacant room near the back of the manor. He cast one last glance back at Webby, whose flinty gaze revealed nothing. Still, he didn’t know what Della had said to her, only that she didn’t seem quite as furious as she had before. 

“We’re not done talking,” Agent 22 warned him and he rolled his eyes. Yeah, he was really looking forward to another lecture about crap he didn’t want to believe. 

* * *

(Ten minutes earlier)

“You don’t want to show weakness in front of him,” Della said and Webby folded her arms across her chest. She was right, of course, but she wasn’t about to vindicate her. Her beak pressed tightly together. 

“I understand,” Della said and knelt at her side. She tugged on her hands. “But you can trust me. I promise.”

Webby wavered. She wanted to hate her as she had before, but after Della had seen her miserable in the Other Bin, it was difficult. 

Della took a different tack. “You’re afraid of Black Heron?”

“I killed her,” Webby said, terse. Her chest tightened. “And she won’t leave me alone.”

“You killed her in self-defense, right?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Webby said glumly. “I mean, I wanted her dead. But at the same time…”

“You didn’t really want her dead. You just wanted her to leave you alone,” Della said and Webby nodded. Her beak quivered and she clamped it tighter. Tears threatened to overflow and Della thumbed away the few that escaped. 

“And now that she’s dead, she still won’t,” Webby said. She looked up at Della. “I didn’t want you to see that.”

“I know. You didn’t want anyone to see that.”

Webby sighed. Della clapped her hands on Webby’s shoulders.

“Hey, it’s okay,” she said. “I mean, it’s not ‘okay’, but, well, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Webby said with a faint smile. “I know what you mean.”

They heard an argument stirring outside and Della inclined her head towards the door. “Shall we see what’s going on?”

Webby nodded, after taking a minute to regain her composure. Della opened the door and they slipped, silently (which was remarkable considering Della’s mechanical leg) back out into the hallway. Webby scowled at Lysander. If he even so much as thought of attacking her grandmother, he’d be sorry. She had her eyes on him.

* * *

Behind the door in the Other Bin, the chimera raged. It had already taken the form of something frightening and it might be able to assume another form too. It had almost escaped. All it needed was for someone to open the door again, then perhaps it could escape. 

And it already had the perfect disguise. 

It thought about what it already knew. One, that child, Webby, was a frequent visitor to the Other Bin. She was searching for something, though it knew not what. Therefore, to lure her into letting it out, it needed to figure out what it was she needed and present it to her. Once that had been accomplished, it would be able to wreak havoc on the monster that had put it in here—Scrooge McDuck. And after being trapped in here for fifteen years, it thought it had a good idea what Scrooge feared above all.

So, first, it had to figure out a way to lure Webby back to the Other Bin. That shouldn’t prove too difficult, once it determined what she was searching for. Then, from there, freedom and the chance to perhaps throw Scrooge into a trap of his own devising.

If it threw him in with the dreamcatcher after it was done with him, that might suffice. For starters. 

Still in the Black Heron guise, it grinned wickedly and moved its broken neck. Yes, it was greatly looking forward to the revenge stage. It rubbed its palms together and the grin became a rictus smile. A smile to match the insanity within. 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you've been wondering about the lack of updates--I've been editing and revising my novel, also trying to take it easy after the madcap adventure of NaNoWriMo.

Webby was enraged that Lysander was staying in the manor, even if he’d been given a room far from her. As far as she was concerned, he didn’t belong here. She might grudgingly accept that Della did, but Lysander had no place in McDuck Manor. Della had grown up here. Webby’s grandmother lived here and did the housework. Lysander, on the other hand, had nothing tying him here except for Webby and she resented that he was exploiting his so-called link to her.

Lena had been given an option of rooms too, but for the night, she chose to bunk down with Webby, for which Webby would’ve been more grateful if she weren’t so aggrieved over Lysander. She wasn’t looking forward to more nightmares, much less worrying about how her grandmother might fare at night. Maybe they’d lock Lysander in and give him a bucket. Webby’s beak twisted into a cruel smile. If they made him a prisoner, that might be acceptable.

“Woah, pink,” Lena said. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I don’t want Lysander here.”

“Yeah, I got that impression.”

They were curled up on Webby’s bed and Webby snuggled closer to the older girl. With Lena’s arms around her, Webby’s heart skipped a few beats. She trusted her as she didn’t trust the others, especially her supposed half-brother. Lena holding her made her feel secure and loved. Webby hugged her back.

“They’ll probably keep him here until they can prove without a doubt that he’s not your brother,” Lena theorized.

“That won’t happen,” Webby replied and dropped her voice. She glanced at Lena’s chin instead of looking into her eyes. “I’m pretty sure he is.”

“You don’t have proof. And you hate him.”

“I told you--I walked in on Steelbeak and some random woman. I mean, he could have other kids. How am I supposed to know? My mom’s the only one he cared enough to chase,” Webby said and her beak quivered. Lena rubbed her back and Webby lifted her head to meet her gaze. Slowly, wondering at her courage and sanity, she brushed her beak against Lena’s. It was meant to be a quick nuzzle and she was shocked when Lena nuzzled her back. She felt like she’d opened up a can of worms. 

“I’d chase you,” Lena said quietly and Webby smiled, brushing her beak against hers again. Her heart was pounding and she applied pressure. Lena reciprocated and Webby’s heartbeat, which had already accelerated, rushed into overdrive. Though they were chest to chest, Webby wished they could be closer and she hugged Lena tightly to her. 

A year ago, she never would have considered making herself vulnerable enough to kiss anyone, much less clasping them to her as if even the Jaws of Life would have a hard time extricating her. She pulled back, cupping Lena’s cheeks in her palms. Lena’s eyes were bright and Webby blushed, smiling back. She caught herself before ducking her head. After all, if Lena wasn’t embarrassed, then why should Webby be? After all, Webby had initiated it.

“You should’ve said something sooner, pink,” Lena chastised lightly and then smoothed her bangs back. She smiled and Webby couldn’t help herself. She squeezed her and squealed, sounding more like a fangirl than her normal self. Lena laughed.

“Some of the real Webby just crept in there,” Lena teased.

“Huh?” Webby said blankly.

“You know, the person you’ll only let yourself be when you’re with someone you completely trust. And I’m honored, pink.”

Webby blushed. She played with Lena’s little floof and for a while, they lay like that, arms about each other, not speaking yet saying volumes in their silence. It was late and Webby ought to go to sleep. Closing her eyes, she nestled her head under Lena’s chin. She felt Lena smile and stroke her hair. It was soothing, reminding her of when Lysander had first appeared and Lena had stroked her hair in the driveway. 

“I love you…” Webby whispered, uncertain if she’d said it aloud until Lena repeated it.

“I love you too.”

That was momentous. She doubted Lena had ever said it to anyone else, not even her hated “Aunt” Magica. If Magica ever bothered to show her face around here again, she’d be sorry. Webby would kick her ass from here back to Mount Vesuvius, where the sorceress belonged. Any time, any place, she’d throw down.

If she hadn’t discovered the triplets, none of this would have happened. She never would’ve known what love and affection were without strings attached. She let Lena’s breathing lull her to sleep and she drifted off.

Or she was about to when Lena pushed at her gently. Webby blinked, opening her eyes.

“Brb,” she said and blushed, chagrined. “Bathroom.”

Reluctantly, Webby released her and let her go. Once Lena had gone, Webby picked up her phone. She had several text messages from Violet. Curious, Webby scrolled through them. It appeared that, despite all evidence to the contrary, Violet wanted to be friends. Webby smiled. She’d never be close to Violet the way she was to Lena and Dewey, but she wanted to be around Violet too. Back in FOWL, she’d never envisioned she’d have friends either.

Happily engrossed in her phone, she texted her back. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late and Violet remained awake. If not, she supposed she’d reply to her in the morning. She’d never envisioned that she wouldn’t have to bury her secret heart, either. That one day, she could wear it on her sleeve, with a few exceptions, and it’d be all right.

Checking no one was about to ascend the ladder to her attic, she grabbed the Quacky Patch doll from where she’d stashed it beneath her bed and hugged it with another squeal. Of course, by the time she heard Lena on the steps, she’d have it beneath the bed where it belonged. But for now, her guard was down and she felt safe. No one was going to assail her and she could express herself. All the defenses she had spent so long building could finally fall. Life was good.

Something crashed downstairs and, suspicion and adrenaline rushing through her, she tossed the doll aside and slid down the stairs. At the door, she found Lena with her fist at Lysander’s throat. Instantly, her guards flew back up. She put a hand on Lena’s arm and squeezed. Lena didn’t stop; she ground her fist into Lysander’s throat. 

“For someone who’s supposed to be trained by FOWL, you’re easy to sneak up on,” Lena sneered.

Lysander punched her in the face and Lena snarled, magic flaring. A pink wave slapped him to the floor and pinned him there. He struggled, hurling curses, and Lena watched, impassive. Webby held up a hand and then, seeing as no one had overheard the tussle, kicked him for good measure.

“What the hell were you doing, skulking around my room?” Webby demanded.

“I wanted to talk,” he protested.

“You’ve done enough of that, haven’t you?” she scoffed. She didn’t tell Lena to let him up, although she wasn’t sure how long her best friend could keep him down. She quivered in outrage, both at Lysander’s presence and at his daring to strike Lena. He wasn’t endearing himself to her in the slightest.

“Wait,” he pleaded. “Please. I’m sorry about your friend. I just think...that you’re wasting your time at McDuck Manor. Steelbeak has you earmarked for such great things and you’re throwing them away for this?”

“I’m not ‘throwing them away’,” Webby snorted. The strain showed in Lena’s face. “You can let him up, Lena. I’ll handle him.”

Relieved, the older girl relaxed her grip and Webby snagged Lysander the instant the magic failed. She slammed him against the wall hard enough to jostle whatever passed for his brain. Webby dug her knuckles into Lysander’s throat. She had no qualms about choking him, maybe not to death, but at least to unconsciousness. He brought out the worst in her.

“I would do anything to become Steelbeak’s heir,” he said earnestly. “These people are making you weak.”

“‘These people’,” she repeated, growling, “gave me something I spent my whole life wanting. A real family. They love and care about me.”

“You could have power. Real power. What is that compared to ‘love and affection’?” he scoffed. “It’s nothing.”

“If you want Steelbeak’s approval so badly, get it yourself,” she retorted.

“I can’t do it without you,” he protested. “You have an ‘in’ with him that I don’t. That’s why I don’t understand why you’re squandering your chances.”

Webby scoffed. “Steelbeak implanted a chip in my brain that suppressed my memories of before I was kidnapped. It also controlled my behavior and made me hurt the people I cared about so I would rejoin him. He manipulated me. Worse than that, he used me to further his own ends. Because that’s what he does. He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.

“And he certainly wouldn’t care about _you_.”

“I can be useful to him.”

“I was useful to my aunt Magica too,” Lena scoffed. “And when you’re finished? What do you think is going to happen? He’ll toss you aside.”

“No, he won’t,” Lysander said hotly.

“Yes, he will,” the girls said in unison.

Lysander glowered. Webby knew he wanted to refute her, but he couldn’t come up with a proper response. She smirked. She was right and he didn’t have a leg to stand on.

“Then why hasn’t he thrown you away?” he asked, sullen.

“Because I continue to be useful to him. And because he brought me into this world, so he feels like he owns me,” Webby said and grimaced. “You’re lucky he barely knows you exist.”

“How am I lucky?” he exploded. “My aunt and uncle raised me to seek out Steelbeak because otherwise, I had no use. If it hadn’t been for Steelbeak siring me, they would’ve thrown me into the street. I’m still not sure that they don’t want to.

“And you. You get everything handed to you on a silver platter and you don’t want it. What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“I got everything handed to me?” she retorted. “Did you miss the part where I murdered Black Heron to save my life? Or the part where our father isolated me from anyone who ever cared about me?”

“He was doing it to make you better! You can’t see it because you’re so focused on this stupid family.”

“You’re right,” she said, her tone dripping ice. “I can’t see it.”

“Why would you throw away your chance at glory?”

“I don’t know, maybe because Steelbeak tried to ruin my life, forced me to attack Dewey, and almost killed me?” Webby said sarcastically.

“He was doing it to better you!”

“Oh, so that makes it all right, does it?” she countered. 

“Shit, if that’s the qualifications for ‘bettering someone’, then Aunt Magica’s right up there,” Lena huffed and then shivered, remembering Magica possessing her. Webby could see the horror in her eyes and hugged her. She didn’t care about revealing weakness in front of Lysander anymore. Lysander knew how she felt about Lena. And if he intended to use it against her, good luck. Because she could and would hurt him.

Lysander huffed. “Trust me.”

“Why should I?” she threw back at him.

Stymied, he glanced at Lena for mute appeal and she sneered. She wasn’t buying it either.

“Because I know what I’m doing,” he grumbled.

“You don’t seem like you do. No offense,” Lena said, meaning full offense, Webby was sure.

“Why don’t you try things my way? Just once?” he pleaded.

“Because I’ve already been down that route,” Webby rejoined. “And I’m not interested in revisiting it.”

Casting about for something, anything that might entice her, Lysander blurted, “I bet I can find your knives in the Other Bin.”

Despite herself, Webby was interested. “Oh, really?”

“Yes,” he said. Webby could tell he was lying, but she was just on the wrong side of desperate.

“Prove it,” she snapped.

* * *

Yeah, he had no clue what he was doing. But he finally had Webby’s interest. If he could procure the knives for her, maybe she’d be more receptive. Nonetheless, she and Lena appeared apprehensive about prowling about the Other Bin, particularly in the dead of night. Something about the Bin was even creepier at night.

“You don’t know where you’re going, do you?” Webby asked skeptically.

“Trust me,” he repeated.

“The more you say that the less I do,” Lena warned.

Lysander huffed. She was another hurdle he hadn’t anticipated. As they walked through the Bin, Webby and Lena were holding hands. Lysander wasn’t sure whether it was because it was a thing girls did or if there was something else at play here. His relatives would’ve told him to look at all the angles. Webby’s affection for Lena could be exploited later, assuming it didn’t backfire horribly and almost get him killed. Webby already disliked him. Using Lena against her could be potentially fatal.

Lysander had to think on his feet. He didn’t know the organization system here, but he took note of which doors the girls steered clear of. Those, he assumed, they’d already opened. If the numbers corresponded with dates, then the most recent ought to be where Webby’s knives were stashed. Surely that would have occurred to Webby too? Webby was clever, after all. Steelbeak wouldn’t have tolerated a dullard for a daughter.

The higher the numbers went, the more confident Lysander grew in his assessment. Besides, what else could be lurking here? Nothing but treasure, right? The Other Bin was supposed to be for Scrooge’s most dangerous prizes, but Lysander scoffed at that. What could be so dangerous about baubles and trinkets?

He stopped before a likely door. If Webby had been here for a year, then this door corresponded exactly with a year ago. Of course, it could be off by a few days, but Lysander was reasonably confident this was the right door. 

He yanked it open and a fierce wind whipped up. It nearly flung him into emptiness and he screamed, clinging to the doorknob as his feet had left the floor. He dangled above empty air and had a strange sense of deja vu. He’d been in the same situation earlier today. And, like earlier today, Webby seemed disinclined to help. Perhaps he should have insisted the boys come along. They must’ve possessed more morality than the girls.

He twisted his neck and was about to yell Webby’s name when it died on his beak. Black Heron, limbs akimbo and neck broken, loomed over her and Webby had gone limp with fright. When Black Heron whirled, glancing from one child to another, she shifted, transforming into Lysander’s aunt. A ghastly duck with red plumage, possibly stained with blood, loomed over him. Lysander screamed, releasing the doorknob. 

Lena’s magic latched onto him, keeping him from plummeting. 

“Pink!” Lena cried. “Pink, goddamn it! I don’t know how much longer I can hold on! Shut the goddamn door!”

Webby whimpered and Lysander’s heart sank. They were well and truly screwed if Webby didn’t act. And the knives were, predictably, not here. He’d probably spent whatever brownie points he’d had with Webby and now he was going to die. Lovely. 

It hadn’t escaped Lysander’s notice that Black Heron had appeared mangled in an impossible pose. Therefore, she probably wasn’t real. Cold comfort, that, given how much Lena had to tug and pull to bring him back to the Other Bin’s floor. She managed it, thankfully, and then collapsed in a cold sweat onto the floor.

“Shit, Webby,” Lena groused. “What the hell is going on?”

The wind had ceased and the figure vanished into mid-air. Lysander’s heart thudded dully.

“What did we just unleash?” Lena asked quietly.

* * *

Scrooge McDuck was all aware of distress within the house, although he was doing his utmost to ignore it. After all, business wouldn’t conduct itself and he needed to be on the top of his game to keep ahead of Flinty. He had no intention of losing that bet and once he’d won, he’d insist on his returning the money clip. It wasn’t that the clip was worth a lot, but it was the principle of the matter. 

A cold breeze trickled into the room and Scrooge waved it off, bent over his business books. “Beakley, can you get that? The window’s open.”

There was no response and Scrooge growled, still not looking up. “Beakley! Fine, I’ll close the window myself!”

Irritated that he’d been forced into it, Scrooge looked up and found himself face to face with a specter from his past. Della’s and Donald’s mother, his sister, stared back at him with a rictus grin on her face. She held out a bloody and partially skeletal hand out to him. Other men might have screamed or withdrawn. Louie definitely would have. Scrooge, however, assessed the situation coolly and calmly. Clearly, something magical was afoot in the manor.

“And what do you want?” he demanded. His sister wore rags that barely covered her emaciated form, which resembled a zombie with missing skin, feathers, and hair. The stench was incredible and Scrooge wrinkled his beak at it. She certainly smelled like she’d been dead for a while. Still, the fact that she still reeked suggested a glamour.

Scrooge folded his arms across his chest. “Ye’re gonna have to get up earlier than that to trick me, whatever you are.”

He paced around the figure, which went straight for his throat. Its limbs elongated, becoming supernaturally extended and thin, and Scrooge batted them off with his cane. The creature raked long nails across Scrooge’s coat and Scrooge glowered.

“Oy,” he snapped. “I like that coat.”

Another claw raked his cheek and severed feathers. Scrooge growled. How the hell were you supposed to keep track of its arms and legs when they both had talons and nails? Clearly, this wasn’t his sister, Hortense, but what manner of demon it was, Scrooge didn’t have the time to identify. As to how it’d gotten here, he had a suspicion someone had been mucking about in the Other Bin.

He’d worry about that later. And reprimand Webbigail for it later as well. In the meantime, it looked like he was about to fight a battle with your friendly neighborhood demon.

* * *

“I can’t believe you unleashed a demon or whatever that was and you’re still not giving up,” Lena said, a combination of impressed and disbelieving. She shook her head at Lysander, who merely glowered in response. That seemed to be his default expression--glaring. She glanced over at Webby, who was matching her half-brother glare for glare.

“I’ll find those knives,” Lysander snapped.

“You’ll get us all killed first,” Lena retorted. “And I haven’t been alive long enough to want to risk it in a suicidal mission.”

Webby’s gaze softened. She wanted those knives, she knew she did, but she didn’t want to put Lena’s life in jeopardy to retrieve them. Lena appreciated that.

“I can find them,” Lysander growled. “I’ll find them. You’ll see.”

“Not in the mood to die today, so let’s go, Webby,” Lena said and tugged on her arm. Webby didn’t budge. “I said, let’s go.”

“No,” Webby said and her gaze was flinty. “You can go. Be safe. But I’m not leaving without them.”

“Are you insane?!” Lena cried. 

“Maybe,” Webby said and her beak twisted into a weak smile. “Probably. But that’s not going to stop me.”

“You do know that there’s probably a lot more dangerous things in the Other Bin just waiting for you to spring them, right?” Lena said, frowning. Reluctantly, she had followed Webby along. Webby appreciated her loyalty. She was seized by a strong temptation to kiss her again and resisted because of Lysander. As soon as he was gone, though, she was kissing her until their beaks were both tired. 

Webby smiled and Lena frowned deeper.

“What is it?” Lena asked.

Looking over at Lysander, who was now studying the doors and trying to figure out the numbering system, Webby leaned forward and kissed her on the beak. Lena smiled now too, playing with her bangs. Their gazes met.

“That’s it,” Webby murmured. Lena grinned.

“You know, we could ditch the loser and go back to your room,” Lena suggested, a coquettish gleam in her eyes.

Webby’s smile slipped. “I still want my knives.”

“Why are they so important?” Lena huffed. “They represent your time in FOWL. Shouldn’t you _want _to be rid of them?”

“I can’t explain it,” she said and hugged herself. “I used them to kill Black Heron.”

“Exactly,” Lena said, sounding exasperated. “Why do you want them back?”

Webby bit the inside of her cheek. “I don’t feel whole without them.”

“Are they, like, your security blankets?”

When Webby didn’t answer, Lena scoffed.

“Pink, you’re twelve. You don’t need security blankets.”

“They were there for me when no one else was,” she protested.

“They’re _knives_. They’re not real. Okay, yeah, they’re real, but they’re not _alive_. You’re not returning to FOWL. You’re never dealing with them again if you can help it. Let them go. You have your mom. You have me. You even have the boys and Uncle Scrooge.”

Webby’s beak twitched. “You said ‘uncle’.”

“Yeah, I did. This is insane. You don’t need those knives. You don’t need anything FOWL ‘gave’ you. You’ve survived this long without them. They’re a crutch, Webby.”

Webby scowled. 

“You don’t need weapons anymore. Hell, your body is a weapon. Let. It. Go. And no, I don’t mean the whole Frozen launch into song. I mean, seriously, you need to let go of this. You can’t fix what Steelbeak did to you. You can’t bring back the time you lost. But you can stop chasing after it.”

Lena smiled bitterly. “Take it from me. You’re never going to be free of the monkey on your back if you keep holding onto it.”

“But you’re not going to be free from her anyway,” Webby murmured. “You’re carrying her amulet inside of you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Lena said and rolled her eyes. Lysander turned back, curious, and Lena flipped him off. He returned the favor and Lena shook her fist warning lay at him. He resumed studying the doors. Opening one at random, he found a lion and slammed the door shut a second before the beast sprang through the gap. 

“You’ll be carrying Steelbeak and Black Heron’s scars for the rest of your life,” Lena continued. “You don’t need to carry a representation of them too.”

Webby’s shoulders sagged. She was right. Holding onto the past was like drinking poison and hoping someone else would die. It wouldn’t help her in the long run and hell, it wouldn’t help her in the short run, either. 

“It’s bad enough you have to deal with the loser. You don’t need to make yourself miserable on top of it.”

“You’re right,” Webby said and it felt like she was making a huge concession. “I still want my knives, but...I don’t have to have them anymore. I have you. I have Dewey and Granny. And Mom. I don’t need to get comfort from inanimate objects.”

“That’s right,” Lena said. “So...can we go?”

Webby fought a cruel smile. She wanted to shove Lysander into a doorway and then forget about him, perhaps have the lion tear him limb from limb. While she was trying to adjust to her new situation and be a better person, she _had _been raised by Steelbeak for nearly seven years. Some habits die hard.

“Yeah,” she replied. “We can go.”

“What?” Lysander growled, apparently having overheard the conversation. “You can’t give up. You can’t turn your back on FOWL. They raised you. They nurtured you. They shaped you. You’re the _heir apparent_. What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Webby said with a sugary sweet smile. “What’s wrong with you?”

Lysander growled, yanking open another door. Webby didn’t know if he’d figured out the system behind them or had continued to open things at random in the hopes that something might click.

This one turned out to be a mistake. A whirlwind swept out into the hallway, latched onto the three of them, and tossed them out into an abyss. Webby tried to scream, but her voice was snatched away from her. She grabbed onto Lena and didn’t let go. If Lena was her only rock in the storm, then so be it. She would weather this with her or not at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References to my other story, the one that's not on here. XD

Webby landed hard, the wind knocked out of her. She still held Lena’s hand; Lena was sprawled out beside her. Cautiously, they rose to their feet and assessed their surroundings. Chills went down Webby’s spine. She recognized this room—she’d spent many hours in it, “training” with Black Heron. It was fairly large—cement walls had weapon racks possessed of many of Black Heron’s favorite tools. Mats covered the floor, which was the only reason they hadn’t cracked ribs when they’d crashed. The ceiling was low and Webby could hardly fail to miss the bloodstains on the floor. Her bloodstains.

Suspicious and worried, wondering how they’d jumped from McDuck Manor to Siberia, Webby scanned the area for potential threats. She didn’t see anything, which didn’t mean they were safe. Anyone or anything could be lurking beyond the steel doors leading to the rest of the compound. 

She spied blades on the wall and was unsurprised to discover her old sheaths at her hips. They fit the new knives perfectly, which amplified her suspicions. Lena held a magic bolt at the ready and they proceeded through the room toward the metal doors. Cameras swiveled to regard both girls and Webby’s heart was in her throat. She resisted the strong temptation to seize Lena’s hand; they were back in enemy territory. She couldn’t risk further weakness.

Lena had noticed Webby’s reaction and kept close, enough for their hands to brush, but didn’t take her hand. She was tense as if anticipating Magica to be lurking in the shadows once they left the training room. The steel doors slammed shut behind them with an echoing finality. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she tried to open them again, they’d be locked.

They crept through the headquarters and although they passed Eggheads, no one commented on their appearance. Eggheads, then again, were a singularly stupid bunch. She had never had a high opinion of them and she wasn’t about to change her mind. Of the other villains peopling FOWL, she saw no sign.

“Hey, pink,” Lena said after about twenty minutes of walking the halls. “Where are we going?”

“Back to my room,” she answered automatically. It was where she’d always gone after sessions. 

“Okay...but why?”

Webby stopped. That was a good question, for which she had no answer. She glanced at Lena, who shrugged back. Heart in her throat, crossing her fingers, she changed her path. She gestured for Lena to be silent as they walked toward the administrative offices. 

With trepidation, she knocked on Steelbeak’s door. It was unadorned, bland and similar looking to every other door in this wing. Only the “S” above the doorknob hinted at its occupant. 

She and Lena stepped back as the door opened. She realized that this was the first time Lena would come face to face with Steelbeak. There was no time to worry about that. As the door opened, revealing his office, Magica de Spell was seated in front of Steelbeak’s desk. Lena froze.

It wasn’t just the sight of Magica that had arrested Lena. It was Magica with her feathers green, her staff in hand, and offering them a floating chair. Lena’s eyes widened, her beak trembled, and her feathers stood on end. 

“Are you gonna come in or stand there like a couple of nitwits?” Steelbeak asked and Webby glanced at her father. His hand was on Lysander’s shoulder; Lysander was wearing a white suit with black pants, just like his father. Webby chanced a look at herself to see whether her outfit had changed—it had. She was back to wearing her training outfit, the one she’d donned to combat Black Heron. Lena alone hadn’t had a wardrobe change. 

“Close the door already!” Steelbeak snapped and, unlike his earlier jocular tone, this was an order. Webby shut the door and it locked, sealing them in. Lena was visibly swallowing back her fear.

“About time you brats showed up,” Magica sneered. “I was beginning to wonder when you’d bother coming in here.”

“How do you have your powers back?” Lena demanded.

Magica glared. “It’s rude to interrupt.”

“Lysander here found an amulet that would suffice to channel her powers back,” Steelbeak said and dread pooled in Webby’s stomach. Unthinking, she grabbed Lena’s hand and squeezed. Lena squeezed back.

“I told you they were together,” Lysander sneered. He seemed older, his posture straighter, and he glared at the girls.

“Take the shadow brat out,” Steelbeak ordered, snapping his fingers at Magica. Magica glowered.

“I’m not your servant,” she retorted.

“You want the shadow dead, don’t you?” Steelbeak scoffed. “Then here’s your chance.”

Lena erected a barrier between them; Magica blasted a hole in it and it shattered. As she did so, magical wisps flew in the air; Magica was siphoning off Lena’s power. Webby snarled, rounding on the sorceress. She didn’t care that she was leaving herself vulnerable to her family. Lena was hers. No one dared to hurt the people she cared about, especially not some third-rate sorceress.

Startled, Magica threw up a barrier between them. 

“Kill the spare,” Steelbeak ordered. “I need to have words with Webbigail.”

Webby’s eyes flashed. She wasn’t letting Lena go without a fight. Ignoring her father, she thrust Lena behind her and beckoned toward the Eggheads and Magica. She’d take on the world if she had to. 

“Is it really so hard to obey a direct order?” Steelbeak groused, rolling his eyes. “Waste her already!”

By keeping Lena at her back, she managed to break Magica’s line of vision, which prevented her from leeching more power off her shadow. Webby produced the knives she’d found in the training area and flung herself at Magica. She knew she was being foolish, putting the other villains at her back, but she didn’t care. Any time, any place, she’d throw down with Magica, especially if the sorceress threatened to kill the person she cared about above everyone else.

She slashed at Magica’s throat and the sorceress held her back, just barely. 

“I thought you said she wouldn’t try to kill me!” Magica snapped. She thrust her staff between them and Webby cut it in half. Huh. She didn’t remember having anything that sharp before. Diamond dagger really could cut through anything. That was impressive.

Apparently, the staff needed to be whole to channel her magic, because Magica’s next attempt to shove her off fizzled and died. The Eggheads surrounded them, but no one wanted to take Webby on. Lena, though weakened, was holding her own. Steelbeak snarled, firing a pistol in the air. Everyone froze. Webby pressed her advantage, however, keeping her blade at Magica’s throat.

“I told you to kill the shadow,” Steelbeak snapped. “And what do you do? You get your asses kicked by her and my daughter. You’re cracked, all of youse. Get the hell outta my sight.”

The Eggheads in question, being unconscious, couldn’t obey orders. Steelbeak rubbed his temples.

“Why is so good help so hard to find?” he asked rhetorically.

Magica shoved at Webby and Webby’s knife bit deeper; red showed in her feathers and painted them almost black. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Steelbeak said conversationally to Magica. “She killed Black Heron. She’ll kill you too if she has to.”

“And I’m supposed to let her intimidate me?” Magica huffed. Lena swept the sorceress’s feet out from under her and Webby pressed her blade into Magica’s throat again, this time with her heel digging into Magica’s chest. 

“If you need a job done right, you gotta do it yourself,” Steelbeak complained. He aimed the pistol at Lena and Webby had a split second reaction time. She assessed which was the bigger threat, came up with Steelbeak, and threw the knife at the gun. It knocked it from his hands and sent it spinning across the room. Sensing she now had leverage, Magica flung Webby off and Webby landed on her back. 

Steelbeak and Magica’s gazes met and they lunged for the two available weapons. Webby jumped to her feet and rushed to Lena’s side.

“I’m fine, pink,” Lena reassured her. She smiled, but it wasn’t convincing. “Shoosh. Don’t worry about me.”

Steelbeak picked up the gun and Magica held the knife. There was one problem; Webby’s knife, which really could cut through anything, had sheered half of it away. The two parts fell to the floor and Steelbeak roared.

“You should have gone with the knife,” Magica said quietly and he glowered at her.

“You are too attached to someone who isn’t even a real person,” Steelbeak snapped at Webby. “What do you think is going to happen here? That I’m just gonna let you walk away? Not gonna happen, kid.”

“You’re not going to touch a feather on Lena’s head,” Webby snapped back.

“Oh, I’m so scared,” he scoffed. “You think I’m that stupid, kiddo? I know all about your ‘relationship’ with her. I know where your mom is hiding, too. Do you think you’re safe in McDuck Manor? You’re not safe anywhere.”

He sneered. “There’s nowhere to run from FOWL, sweetheart. Wren might’ve escaped me twice, but third time’s the charm. As for your little ‘friend’...”

He pulled out another gun from a holster at his hips. “We’ll see if guns can kill a shadow.”

“They can’t,” Magica supplied and Steelbeak glowered.

“Are you tryin’ to steal my thunder?” he snapped at her.

“Stating a fact,” Magica scoffed. “It’s not my fault you’re ignorant.”

“Are they really having a pissing contest right now?” Lena whispered in Webby’s ear.

“Yep,” Webby said.

“Jeez. Villains.”

“Then how would you do it?” Steelbeak snapped. 

“For starters,” she snapped. “I wouldn’t have let someone slice my staff in half.”

“And that’s supposed to be my fault?” he demanded.

“I don’t see anyone else who sired a super annoying duckling around here.”

“Technically, you did,” Steelbeak snapped, pointing to Lena. 

“Oh, sure, pin this all on me!” Magica bristled.

It seemed imperative that they leave while the two villains bickered, but Webby was wary of making any sudden movements. Lena was weak, too; she could see it in how she held herself and how she took small steps as if moving too quickly tired her. Webby braced her and then glanced around once more. Someone was missing.

Lena came to the same conclusion.

“Where’s Lysander?” they asked in unison, chary to keep their voices low. 

In the last few minutes, he’d vanished. That couldn’t bode well. Apprehensive, she scanned their surroundings again, but there was nothing to see. Webby’s apprehension mounted. He’d just been here, hadn’t he? Where could he have gone without their noticing?

Footsteps above her head gave her a split second warning. She shoved Lena out of the way and raised her knife, her last blade and her only possible shield. Lysander was in the air ducts and he pushed the screen aside. He grinned wickedly.

“Never turn your back on your opponent, Webbigail. That’s lesson number one in FOWL. How could you have forgotten?”

He held one of Steelbeak’s spare guns and squeezed the trigger. 

\--------

Lysander hadn’t landed with the two girls. This wasn’t surprising since Webby had a tight grip on Lena’s hand. He pushed himself up from a cement floor and stared straight into a barrel of a gun. When he looked up, he saw Webby, but it wasn’t his sister. This Webby was older, with a cybernetic arm and an ocular implant in her right eye. She was also somehow colder; it was as if life had sharpened all her smooth edges and then sanded away anything it considered useless. Lysander shivered.

Webby put the gun down on the desk. It wasn’t a random desk, he saw. It belonged to Steelbeak. Pushing himself to his feet, he took stock of his location. It looked like Steelbeak’s office, except that any trophies he might have had hanging from the walls were gone. Webby snapped her natural fingers and Dewey appeared. This, too, was odd. Dewey was older and his expression was dull. 

Lysander gawked. Dewey’s gait was stilted, every step shambling. He dragged his right foot.

“What the hell?” Lysander said.

Webby glowered. “I didn’t give you permission to speak.”

“What happened to Dewey? I thought you guys were friends,” Lysander said, ignoring her. Webby grabbed Lysander by the collar and pressed a blade to his throat. Her eyes flashed.

“I said I didn’t give you permission to speak. What part of that didn’t you understand?” she demanded.

Lysander couldn’t control his mouth. “What happened to Dewey?”

“Black Heron,” Webby bit off. She released Lysander and flung him against the table. Her gaze shifted, softening as she beheld the middle triplet. Then she glanced back at Lysander and her expression was so harsh, he wondered whether he’d imagined the tenderness there.

“Who are you?” Webby snarled. “And what gives you the right to fall into my office?”

Lysander touched his throat, which she had nicked. A thin trickle of blood fell down his neck and into his collar. He knew that Webby could be brutal and he’d incited the worst in her, but this seemed a little over the top, even for her. Then again, she was also moving to keep Dewey at her back, as if she feared Lysander might make a sudden lunge for him.

Black Heron had harmed Dewey and this version of Webby cared for him, possibly deeply. She still sought to protect him. That didn’t explain how he’d gotten here, where here was, or what had happened to the girls. However, he realized he’d better shape up or she’d throw him in the cells, which she might do anyway, depending on her whims. It was up to him to avoid that fate.

He opted to go for the truth. Besides, if this Webby had grown up in FOWL too, which he had no reason to suspect otherwise, her b.s. detector was well attuned to lies. He’d have nothing to gain and everything to lose by fibbing.

“My name is Lysander,” he said. “I’m your half-brother.”

Webby’s eyes narrowed. “Nice try. I only have two other siblings, full-blooded, and they left with my traitorous mother. Care to give it another go? Or should I kill you now?”

Kill him? Woah. This Webby was...intense, even more than the one he knew. His skin crawled. He’d better think on his feet, which had never been his strong suit.

“I’m your half-brother from an alternate dimension,” he said. “There was a portal to this world in the Other Bin and I fell through.”

“The Other Bin,” she said flatly.

“Uncle Scrooge’s Other Bin?” Dewey asked. He sounded almost normal and Webby brightened.

“Yes,” Lysander said. “I don’t know how to get home. Or even where home is. I’m not here to attack you.”

“A likely story,” she scoffed, though he noticed that her stance was softer, less hostile. She turned to Dewey. 

“Lock him up until I decide what to do with him,” she decreed. Dewey advanced and wrenched Lysander’s arms behind his back. He half carried, half wrestled him toward the door. Lysander blinked. He hadn’t even seen him move. How was that possible? He’d shambled in here like Frankenstein’s monster. 

Struggle as he might, he couldn’t dislodge Dewey’s grip. Dewey carried him, past Eggheads and other milling villains. This was his first glimpse of FOWL in the flesh and he didn’t have time to appreciate it since Dewey trudged rapidly through the halls. He wasn’t even that much taller than him. What the actual hell.

“What did Black Heron do to you?” Lysander managed through a constricted chest.

“She used me to punish Webby,” Dewey said. His voice had returned to a monotone and it sent chills down Lysander’s spine. 

“How...exactly?” 

He was afraid of the answer.

“I don’t remember.”

That might’ve been for the best, though it hardly satisfied him. Lapsing into silence, he stopped fighting Dewey. There was no point. Dewey had augmented strength, perhaps a result of Webby’s guilt over Black Heron’s mistreatment. There was a history here and Lysander dearly hoped he wouldn’t be here long enough to learn it.

\----------

Mrs. Beakley knelt by the three unconscious children. Try as she might, she couldn’t rouse them. Webby and Lena were curled up together, clinging to each other. Lysander was a few feet away and whimpering. Meanwhile, whatever they’d unleashed was roaming the manor. She reserved her frustration and anger for later, as it wasn’t useful now. When they came to, however, they were going to get a tongue lashing.

If they came to. What had they been doing? She resolved to have a world with Mr. McDuck about this mess, provided he hadn’t done something stupid to ameliorate the matter. She sighed. That’d be just like him.

Typical Scrooge, leaving her to pick up the pieces. Just because she was the housekeeper didn’t mean she had to fix everything.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ll write the second half of this tomorrow, maybe. I just wanted to get this out there. I didn’t get much work done over the holidays (my fault) and the novel needs major reworking…

Webby reacted without thinking. The greatest threat here was Lysander with the gun and the person in the greatest danger was Lena. Therefore, she slashed out with the knife and, as before, her actions had unintended consequences. She’d been at too close range to pull her punches, proverbially speaking, and her other dagger had the same sharp edge. 

On the plus side, the gun didn’t go off because Lysander didn’t have a chance to pull the trigger. In her panic, she’d forgotten what Magica had said about bullets not being able to harm shadows. 

Lysander howled, recoiling and holding his right hand. Or, rather, where his right hand used to be, as it now ended in a stump. Blood poured from the wound and Webby shoved him away, her heart hammering between her ribs. Despite her best efforts, blood had soaked her training uniform, which sadly wasn’t an unusual occurrence. 

She remembered killing Black Heron and her throat tightened, a scream trapped. She hadn’t meant to kill Black Heron. She hadn’t meant to slice off Lysander’s hand, either. Unfortunately, she gripped the knife hard and try as she might, she couldn’t pry her fingers off.

For a minute, nothing happened. Lena was beside her, Lysander was screaming his head off, and Steelbeak stood off to the side. A smile curved his beak and Magica backed away, eyeing the blade with trepidation. Webby’s beak twitched as if she was fighting a smile. Good--Magica _should _keep her distance.

Then Steelbeak applauded sarcastically. It barely penetrated the fog that had infiltrated her mind. She was having flashbacks of killing Black Heron and she had frozen in place. Lena squeezed her shoulder and Webby drew a shuddering breath. Lena was real. Lena was here. She had not been when Webby had killed Black Heron. Therefore, she wasn’t there; she was here. Wherever “here” was and however they’d gotten there.

“I should have expected nothing less,” Steelbeak praised and although Webby knew that his praise came seldom, she didn’t bask in it as she used to. It was only Lena’s hand on her shoulder that kept her from flying off the lid and yelling. Not caring that she was showing weakness, as she was so far beyond it that it didn’t matter, she leaned against Lena. Lena hugged her.

“Maybe it was a mistake to consider separating you two,” he continued. “After all, the last time I saw you this merciless, it was because you were fighting to get to someone’s side. You’re at your best when you’re under the most pressure.”

“You promised me you’d let me kill the shadow,” Magica spat. 

“Change of plans,” Steelbeak announced. He grinned at her. “These things happen, y’know. Webby, sic ‘em.”

“I’m not your attack dog,” Webby spat, drenched in blood and shuddering uncontrollably. Despite the blood, Lena was holding her tightly. She wanted to kiss her but now was neither the time nor the place.

“Attack her or I’ll let her destroy Lena,” Steelbeak said, the smile gone. Magica smirked, launching herself at Lena, and Webby pulled away, putting the older girl at her back. Magica sidestepped Webby’s next slash and blasted her with her staff. Webby rolled with the blow; this was no different than her fights with Black Heron. The goal was, if she got hit, to either roll with it or permit it to glance off her. She couldn’t afford direct hits. They would kill her.

To Webby’s consternation, Lena wasn’t sitting this one out. When Magica aimed for Webby’s head, Lena dove, knocking the sorceress off her feet. Webby flung her last knife and with Magica off balance, it flew, end over end, to embed itself in Magica’s cheek. The power behind the throw had pinned Magica to the wall and the knife had gone through her cheek and out the other side. It had penetrated her skull and Magica slumped, squeezing the staff to heal herself. 

It hadn’t killed her, which wasn’t what Webby had intended anyway, but it had immobilized her. Magica gripped the knife to wrench it out and collapsed onto the floor. Her staff’s magic flowed through her and healed her, but it came at a price. The more magic she used, the weaker she grew.

Webby took advantage of her enemy’s immobilization, since she wouldn’t remain so for long, and slammed her head into the wall until the sorceress fell unconscious. Better than dead or suffering without a hand. Webby shuddered and Steelbeak snickered.

“I knew you could do it,” he said and glared at Lysander. “Get up and fight her or you’re not worthy of being my heir.”

Lysander couldn’t move. It looked like he’d gone unconscious from blood-loss. Webby had nothing with which to cauterize the wound, but she could devise a tourniquet. Her grandmother had taught her long ago and although it had caused her pain to recall her past at McDuck Manor, the tourniquet lesson had stuck.

She ripped a strip off her shirt and approached Lysander. 

“Don’t show him mercy,” Steelbeak snarled. “Come here.”

“I’m. Not. Your. Attack. Dog.” Webby spat.

Steelbeak’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t reply. Instead, he moved around the table and watched as Webby applied a tourniquet. Lysander panted, his breathing increasingly shallow, and Webby worried he might bleed out. That hadn’t been her intention. She just hadn’t wanted him to hurt Lena, damn it.

The rooster’s gaze flitted from his ‘heir’ to Webby. Webby suppressed a shudder at how keenly he regarded her. She didn’t like the shrewd expression on his face, as if he were assessing how she might be of future use to him. 

She might not like Lysander, she might think he was arrogant and that he reminded her of things best left forgotten, but she didn’t want him to die. Regardless of whether she liked it, he was her family. She couldn’t let him suffer because of Steelbeak the way she had.

Lena staggered over to Magica and wrenched both the staff and the amulet off of her. Magic poured back into her best friend and Webby breathed a quick sigh of relief as Lena stood straighter and breathed easier. Webby did her best to avoid looking at the carnage she’d caused, but it was difficult when it was right in front of her.

“I never should have chosen him,” Steelbeak scoffed. “I should have seen he was weak.”

Webby’s insides curled and Lena approached her. She wished she could ask wordlessly whether Lena knew how to teleport out of here, but she doubted that she did.

“But you...when you’re motivated...you can do whatever you put your mind to…” he said. He beamed at his eldest child. Webby glared back. 

The Eggheads were stirring and Webby drew a cautious step backward, assuming an offensive position. Lena followed her lead. Her fingers had curled around the staff, yet the look on her face said that Lena considered the staff anathema to her. Webby didn’t blame her--she’d been destroyed by it once, after all.

“But love is a weakness,” he continued and kicked Lysander aside. Lysander whimpered, which Webby knew was a mistake. It might even have been involuntary, but it didn’t matter. Lena had shown herself capable; Lysander hadn’t. Also, if her father thought he was taking Lena from her, he’d be sorry. 

“You’re wrong,” she snapped, her heart pounding. “I fight because I care about people. Because I want to protect them.”

Steelbeak smirked. “Is that what you’re telling yourself, kiddo?”

Bereft of her daggers, Webby seized the one weapon left--Magica’s staff. Lena didn’t need it to channel her magic and while Webby wasn’t certain whether she _had _magic that could be channeled through it, beyond the one spell she’d done to resurrect her best friend and the friendship bracelet, she was desperate. Lena released the staff immediately and Webby lunged; hesitation would have cost her. Countless sessions with Black Heron had taught her that. 

Steelbeak ducked, except he wasn’t trained to fight as she and Black Heron had been. He never did the dirty work; that was why he had henchmen. Webby closed her eyes and focused, blasting Steelbeak in the chest. He staggered backward, but nothing else appeared to have happened when she opened her eyes again.

“Better let me have that, pink,” Lena murmured in her ear. Reluctantly, she handed it off.

“Whoever told you that is wrong, Webbigail,” he sneered. “And weak.”

He slammed his fist on a button on his desk. The floor dropped beneath the girls and they crashed onto a straw-strewn surface. The hole closed up and Webby groaned, trying to see her surroundings. It was too dim to distinguish anything, save her hand before her face. She thought Lena had fallen with her--but she couldn’t see her.

“Breathe, Webby,” Lena said and held up the staff. Light suffused their cell, for that was what it was, and illuminated the dead SHUSH operative, all bones now, tied to the wall. Webby’s stomach flip-flopped. 

“Yeah, that’s not encouraging,” Lena agreed. 

Somewhere outside of herself, she felt someone shaking her. The world jolted for a few seconds and she did a doubletake. She thought she heard her grandmother calling her name.

Lena frowned, cocking her head upward. “Do you hear…?”

“Yeah…” Webby said and frowned, confused. 

After a minute, it stopped, leaving them as alone as they’d ever been. The trapdoor opened again and Lysander flew through the air. Lena arrested his fall to prevent him from snapping a few ribs when he crashed. As a result, Lysander landed on his back and moaned, semi-conscious. 

“Guess he’s not the heir anymore,” Lena scoffed. 

“We have to get out of here,” Webby said.

“You know this place better than I do,” she pointed out. “What would you suggest?”

“I’d like to know why I heard Granny calling our names…” Webby muttered. 

“Join the club.”

“I might know this place better, but the only time I escaped, I had help.”

Lena shook the staff and it turned into a broomstick. A wicked grin split her face and she rounded on Webby. “Well, look at that. Magica did have a few tricks up her sleeves after all.”


	10. Chapter 10

“For heaven’s sake,” Mrs. Beakley snapped as she turned on the vacuum cleaner and condemned the hellacious creature to supernatural imprisonment. She’d known as soon as she’d heard the banshee wailing that she’d need the extra duty vacuum. Of course, she could hardly leave the children unattended, so she’d fetched Wren before heading off to Scrooge’s office. It had been difficult enough sidestepping Huey’s and Louie’s questions as to what had befallen their brother and the girls. (Curiously, they’d forgotten, either by purpose or accident, about Lysander).

“I had it under control,” Scrooge snapped, straightening his coat. 

“Sure you did,” she scoffed. “Meanwhile, the children have been mucking around in the Other Bin--”

“I told them it was off-limits!” Scrooge bristled, staring at the vacuum cleaner with his eyebrows raised. “You’re, er, sure it won’t make a sudden reappearance?”

“This is comprised of the same material which contained that djinn,” she said impatiently. “We need to move Webby’s knives elsewhere because it seems that whenever she has a free moment and thinks she can get away with it, she dashes off to the Other Bin. This time, I suspect Lysander had a hand in it.”

Scrooge looked slightly mollified by her reassurance, though he continued to frown. He folded his arms across his chest.

“The Other Bin needs more security,” he said and shook his head. “I’ll get Gyro right on it.”

“Not now you won’t,” she snapped and he huffed.

“What is it _now_, Beakley?” 

“The children,” she said. “Lysander, Lena, and Webby are all unconscious and I can’t wake them. They’re not even in a room in the Other Bin; they’re lying on the floor in the Bin’s warehouse. I can only conjecture as to what’s running through their minds, but I suspect it relates to the creature I just captured and the dreamcatcher you have a few doors down from their location.”

She was being brusque and knew she ought to slow down, but time was of the essence. Thus far, she’d managed to put Huey and Louie off the trail, but it wouldn’t be for long. Louie was too cunning for his own good and Huey would fret over his brother and the girls. It might already be too late to stop them from chasing after the others.

Scrooge’s expression turned thoughtful. “This creature’s been waiting to pounce on me since I trapped her after I adopted Della and Donald. Are ye _sure _she’s trapped, Beakley?”

“As sure as I can be at this juncture,” she said. “I’m far more concerned about the kids.”

“Perhaps with the beast captured, the children will wake on their own?” he suggested, but she knew he didn’t believe it. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have set off after her toward the Other Bin. As they hastened toward it, she filled in what she’d been able to divine from observing the kids. 

“It sounds more like they’re trapped in an alternate universe,” Scrooge mused. 

“Then how are we supposed to get them out?” she snapped. She didn’t add that she’d only had Webby back for a year and had no intention of losing her to anything, much less another timeline. Scrooge knew what was weighing on her mind. After all, something similar had to be running through his head regarding the triplets and possibly Della too.

As they rounded the corner and entered the Other Bin, the door of which Mrs. Beakley had left open in her hurry, they discovered the remaining Duck family, save Donald. Huey, Louie, and Della were arrayed around the unconscious children. Lena whimpered, curling closer to Webby, and Mrs. Beakley’s heart wrenched. They’d been through enough.

“We’ve been trying to wake them, but we’ve had no success,” Huey said.

“I know,” Mrs. Beakley said, grimacing. “They appear to be under some sort of spell.”

“Does anyone know which door they opened before they fell…” Scrooge stopped, trailing off as he looked up. A few feet away, a door leading out into an abyss awaited them. Mrs. Beakley, who was used to the supernatural and uncanny thanks to her long tenure with Scrooge McDuck, nonetheless flinched. There was something cold and unearthly about that abyss as if peering directly into a black hole.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that one,” Huey said. “What’s supposed to be in there?”

“It’s, er…” Scrooge hesitated a second too long and Mrs. Beakley elbowed him hard in the ribs. “Ow! It’s an opening to a vortex manipulator. Rather than take the user back in time like the Time-Tub or the clock in the living room, it allows one to transport to different dimensions. I thought I’d locked that door…”

“Clearly, you didn’t,” Mrs. Beakley said, disapproving. “This could have been averted otherwise.”

“We can point the finger later,” Scrooge said, though color crept up his beak. “For now…”

“For now what?” Della asked, shaking Dewey to no effect. “Come on, baby, wake up…”

“Where’s Wren? I thought she was supposed to keep an eye on you two,” Mrs. Beakley said and if possible, her scowl deepened.

Wren jogged toward them holding Webby’s knives. At Mrs. Beakley’s raised eyebrows, she explained, “We need to move them somewhere else. This is ridiculous. She won’t stop until she realizes she can’t get at them or we return them to her. And we’re all against the latter.”

“Yeah, Webby is scary enough without the knives,” Louie muttered.

“We have more important matters to worry about,” Mrs. Beakley said. She knelt by Webby’s side. Webby whimpered, clutching Lena tighter. Though Mrs. Beakley couldn’t say for certain what she was envisioning, she could make an educated guess that it involved Steelbeak and FOWL. Anger briefly turned her vision red before she throttled it back. She wanted to eviscerate Steelbeak.

Della scooped Dewey up and cradled him. For all the notice he paid her, she might have left him on the cold cement floor. 

“We don’t know if we should move them,” Mrs. Beakley pointed out. 

Louie glanced at the unconscious trio, stepped over to the door, and slammed it closed. Everyone startled except for Lena, Webby, and Lysander. Mrs. Beakley exhaled jaggedly. That hadn’t worked. Still, she felt better without that black hole at the corner of her vision.

“So, what, we’re all just going to stand here and wait for them to return on their own?” Louie asked, skeptical. Mrs. Beakley turned her gaze upon Scrooge.

“Well?” she snapped. “This is _your _Bin. Do something.”

“How do ye expect me to know everything about what’s in here?”

“Because it’s your Bin!” Mrs. Beakley thundered, glowering at him. Scrooge cowered before her glare, as well he ought to. She wasn’t messing around. He’d better come up with a solution and quick before she lost her temper.

“Yes, but I have hundreds of doors in here. How can I reasonably be expected to recall everything that’s behind them?” he countered.

Mrs. Beakley didn’t reply. Instead, she glared and hoped he got the hint. Scrooge gulped. They both knew that while this was his mansion, it was _her _house. She wanted to pick up Webby, but she feared to separate her from Lena. Then again, maybe the shock would help...or worsen it. She couldn’t risk that.

“Man, you really need to organize the stuff here,” Louie said and shrugged when Scrooge and Beakley glared at him. “What? Just saying.”

“If only there were a way to see what they’re seeing…” Wren said, frowning, biting the inside of her cheek.

“There might be…” Scrooge mused. She glared--he’d better not be having them on. He glanced around them at the myriad doors; she didn’t know half of what he’d stored in here, though she recalled the unicorns well enough. He stroked his whiskers thoughtfully.

“There just might be.”

* * *

Lysander slumped in his prison. Dewey had returned, club foot and all, with Webby beside him. This version of Webby cast a cruel gaze upon him and he shuddered, wishing he could inch away and shrink before her fury. The inhuman eye and hand did not help matters. She reminded him of Black Heron, which might’ve been intentional on Heron’s part.

She was watching him and waiting for something, though he knew not what. At length, she turned away and drew Dewey with her to discuss something. They spoke in murmurs, to prevent Lysander from eavesdropping. Webby pulled away and her beak curled in disdain.

“Even if you are who you say you are,” she said, “I have no use for you.”

“I could help you run FOWL,” he suggested and she scoffed.

“I didn’t lose my hand and eye for assistance.”

“You let Dewey help.”

Webby shuddered. “Dewey is...Dewey…”

She seemed unwilling to go on. Instead, quivering, she reached for him and he took her hand. Lysander still wasn’t certain the extent of his injuries and/or enhancements. He was clearly stronger than he ought to be and walked with a pronounced limp. The monotone came and went; his eyes still shone with intelligence. Perhaps not as keenly as Webby’s did, but he didn’t appear to be deficient.

“Dewey is non-negotiable,” she decided. 

“What about your mother?” Lysander pressed, knowing it wasn’t a good idea but unable to stop himself. “You mentioned you have siblings, Star and Robin.”

“They left. With my traitorous mother. After Black Heron attacked.”

Her tone was clipped and he didn’t know what to make of it. Bewildered, he looked at Dewey.

“Webby...he didn’t do anything wrong…” Dewey murmured, intending to be overheard. Webby scowled.

“You can’t trust family. Not even yours,” Webby said.

“Huey and Louie--”

Webby held up a hand, the mechanical one. “We’ll see.”

“What did you say your name was?” she spat at Lysander. “Lysol?”

“Lysander,” he snapped. “Jeez...Steelbeak said the same thing.”

She snorted, but despite her brief amusement, it faded fast. She looked somber, maybe a bit melancholy. “He would.”

“What, er, what happened to him here?” he asked. Webby seemed, if not open, at least less reluctant to answer questions. It might be his only chance at discovering where he was and what had befallen him. Besides, Webby seemed to have a weakness for Dewey. She surely wouldn’t cut Lysander off with Dewey nearby. Right? Or was he overthinking this?

“He is no longer a concern,” Webby said. “That’s all you need to know.”

“Right, because that’s not vague at all,” Dewey protested. He shuddered and pain rippled through him. Gasping, he fell to his knees and Lysander was instantly forgotten as Webby knelt by Dewey’s side. She placed her flesh and blood hand upon his back.

“Dewey?” Webby whispered urgently. 

“Sorry...it’ll pass…” Dewey replied.

Lysander bit his tongue, literally, to keep from asking again what had befallen Dewey. Whatever it was, it was none of his business. What he needed to do was keep his head and figure out a way out of this mess. Still, something confused him.

“Where’s Lena?”

A strange look flitted across Webby’s face and she sighed. 

“She’s out patrolling,” she said. “Just in case Magica de Spell comes ‘round again.”

“I thought you two were tight. I mean...really tight.”

Webby looked baffled for a second. “She’s my best friend.”

That wasn’t what he’d meant, but he was reluctant to pry further. The dynamic must’ve shifted in this universe, but he was hard-pressed to say where it had altered. Clearly, Webby was closer to Dewey here than she was to Lena. He wasn’t sure what that meant, either.

“Are you going to let me go?” Lysander blurted.

Webby frowned. “I don’t know how you got here and I don’t know why you’re pretending to know so much, but...you’re a liability. So the answer is ‘no’. I’m not letting you go. Besides, there’s nowhere _to _go.”

She snorted. “We’re miles away from any civilization that would have you.”

That was a strange turn of phrase. Lysander mulled it over.

“As for Steelbeak, since I know you’re dying to ask,” she snapped, “he’s ensnared in a trap of his own devising. You don’t need to--”

Dewey moaned and Webby broke off. Her gaze searched him desperately.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” she demanded. 

In response, Dewey moaned again and spat up blood. Webby froze before stiffening and glowering at Lysander as if he’d caused this.

“Stay here,” she commanded and helped Dewey walk away. Though he couldn’t hear her quiet murmuring to him, her expression was gentle again and she supported him with her non-mechanical hand. Once their footsteps faded away, Lysander was left to his own devices again. And, as this prison cell looked rather secure, all he could do was twiddle his thumbs and see if perhaps Lena might arrive and take pity on him.

Recalling her fist at his throat earlier, he rather doubted it.

This felt like a nightmare from which he couldn’t wake. There had to be something he could, some sign he’d overlooked or clue as to how he’d gotten here and how he could escape. _Anything_.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...the plot hole I discovered in the previous post helped give me inspiration for this chapter, mostly because I wanted to fix things.
> 
> And the other AU that's in this is actually part of a fanfic that's on my LiveJournal. No one's said they wanted me to post it on AO3...XD So it's staying there.

_Ten minutes earlier..._

Dewey was worried. He hadn’t seen the girls...or Lysander, for that matter, and for all that he believed Lysander was Webby’s half-sibling, he didn’t like how Webby got when he was around. Webby had tied her fragile well-being to the boys and Lena. Anyone who threatened it, such as Lysander, made him apprehensive. He didn’t think Webby would run away, not after everything Steelbeak had put her through, not to mention FOWL, but he also didn’t think Webby was in a great state of mind right now.

Of course, not all of this was put into actual words. Dewey operated on gut instincts, letting his emotions take him where he needed to go. Right now, his instincts told him that he needed to locate the others. He knew from talking to Webby that her knives were concealed in the Other Bin, which meant he needed to head there. 

When he arrived at the door, he found it ajar, as if it had been waiting for him. Or as if something within it had gotten out. Dewey shrugged, unperturbed, mostly because he didn’t have any experience with the Other Bin and its peculiarities. Unlike Webby, who had been there multiple times, Dewey had never set foot in the Other Bin. It had never interested him.

It didn’t take much work to discover where the others had gone. A gaping vortex on the floor above them beckoned him and he glanced from Webby, Lena, and Lysander, all sprawled out on the floor and looking dismayed in their slumber, to the vortex. Something within it beckoned him. He wasn’t the type to proceed cautiously, either.

He didn’t know how to check to see if the girls and Lysander were okay. He didn’t care as much about Webby’s half-brother; Webby looked like she was crying in her sleep. Dewey’s heart wrenched. She was clinging to Lena as if afraid someone might wrench her away. 

When calling her name didn’t work, he tried shaking her gently. He didn’t remember what you were supposed to do about sleep-walkers and technically, she wasn’t one. He couldn’t remember if you weren’t supposed to wake someone in a nightmare or if you were. 

He shook her harder and she whimpered, pressing her face into Lena’s chest. Standing, keeping an eye on the trio, he decided to tackle that strange vortex above them. Maybe it had answers. At the very least, Dewey had questions. 

Tendrils of blackness reached for him, which, under the circumstances, struck him as worrisome. He didn’t want to abandon the others, especially not Webby, but they needed help. Uncertain, he searched the area to see if anyone was about to turn up and relieve him of this onerous duty. No one materialized. Panic clutched at his chest.

He ran as far as he could while still keeping the others within his line of sight. Cupping his hands to his beak, he called out for assistance. No one heard him. He darted back and took Webby’s heartbeat. You were supposed to do that, right? To check that she was okay? Her heart was racing and her breathing shallow, which wasn’t helping his anxiety. She’d barely let him touch her, too, because when he seemed to be jerking her away from Lena, she pulled away from him.

The black tendrils reached for him and, faster than he could flee, they ensnared him. Dewey whacked at them, kicked, and fought, squirming around like mad. Throughout it all, the trio remained oblivious. The tendrils slammed him into the floor and Dewey’s head struck first. Before he had a chance to tell his brothers or get Uncle Scrooge or his mom, he was out like a light.

* * *

Staying here was not exactly thrilling. He heard movements to his left and right, but no one answered when he called out. Lysander huddled in on himself, thinking about this version of Webby and Dewey. Webby was in love with him--he could see it in her remaining eye. Dewey probably reciprocated. Lysander had a hard time imagining Webby would’ve thrown her love away, especially this version, which seemed harder and crueler than Lysander’s half-sister.

She’d said that Black Heron had done that to Dewey in retaliation. Her version of Black Heron must still be alive. Or had been at that point. He couldn’t discount the possibility that Webby had killed her afterward. Except, if that was the case, then it wouldn’t have been in the heat of the moment as it was in his home universe. It would’ve been premeditated. That was another difference between his Webby and this one. 

“His Webby” being shorthand because in no way was she his beyond biology. She hated his guts. He groaned, pulling at his hair. How could he blame her? But...where had she gone? Shouldn’t she be here, with him? 

“Webby?” he called. “Lena?”

A ghastly wail arose from the depths and sounded like its owner was dying by degrees. It gave Lysander the chills. On the plus side, it didn’t sound like it came from the girls. Plus, he was pretty sure that Webby would’ve mentioned it if she’d encountered her younger self, even if it’d just been in passing.

So why was he here and the girls elsewhere? How could they have ended up in different places if they’d started out together? 

His frown deepened. It felt like someone was shaking him none too gently, but when he looked around, there was no one there. He wished he had someone like Webby had Lena. And she had Dewey. Speaking of which, Webby sure had been gone a long time. What were she and Dewey doing?

And was Dewey okay? He had coughed up blood. Combined with whatever Black Heron had done to him, it painted an ugly picture. Lysander shuddered, hugging his knees to his chest. He wanted to go back now. He’d seen enough of this world.

Since the girls weren’t here, where were they? And what were they suffering? Had they encountered a cruel version of him? Was this what had befallen them? A warped version of reality? Lysander hugged himself tighter. He didn’t like being left alone with his thoughts. They tended to circle like vultures.

An older Lena walked past his cell. He knew it wasn’t the one he’d met, because she held herself differently, stiffer. As if she too was more on guard. To his surprise, Louie wasn’t far behind her. Hadn’t Webby said she didn’t want the others involved? The way she’d made it sound, they weren’t even here. Yet there was Louie, catching up with Lena.

The two paid Lysander no mind; to them, perhaps he wasn’t even there. He certainly didn’t register with Webby and Dewey. (That begged the question of what had befallen Huey, but he thought that was something he didn’t want to know--he had enough trouble as it was without borrowing from others). 

Lena stopped at the end of the hallway and turned around. The amulet within her chest glowed pink and Lysander thought he spied her holding hands with Louie. Yet when she returned and stood in front of his cell, she wasn’t. Instead, she scrutinized Lysander.

“You don’t belong here,” she commented. 

“What, in one of FOWL’s cells?” Louie asked. “Because it looks like Webby knew what she was doing.”

He scowled. “Oh, sorry, what’s she calling herself now? Black Duck? Something stupid.”

Lena rolled her eyes at him and scrutinized Lysander. He wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but he stood regardless, to present a fuller impression. Her gaze swept over him and then beyond, as if unimpressed. He’d been summarily dismissed the same way by Steelbeak.

Something Louie had said stuck in his mind. Webby was taking on a codename? Did that mean she was heading FOWL now? Or at least in the upper echelons? The Webby he knew would never have done that. And she’d been in Steelbeak’s office and used it as if it belonged to her. 

“Is Webby in charge?” Lysander asked before he had a chance to check himself. Argh, he always spoke before he thought it through. Lena folded her arms across her chest. The older Lena had abandoned the sweater and long shirt look for a black dress with pink along the edges. It put him in mind of a goth Webby and he suppressed a smile.

“You really aren’t from around here, are you?” Louie scoffed. “Where have you been? Under a rock?”

“He’s not from this universe,” Lena commented and, using her magic, yanked him up against the bars. It brought back an unwanted flashback of her fighting him to prevent him from waking Webby. Lena’s eyes blazed.

“How can you tell?” Louie asked. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, because all sorts of screwed up things happen around here.”

“Because only his spirit is here, not his body.”

“What?” Louie said. She’d lost him. “It looks like he’s here.”

Lena scowled. “He has to go back.”

“I’d love to,” Lysander said. “But I seem to be stuck here. You wouldn’t happen to know where Webby went, would you?”

“This has nothing to do with her,” Lena said and something flashed across her face, too quick to name. She studied him again. “I can send you back.”

He fell to his knees and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. “Would you? Please? What about the Webby and Lena from my world?”

“There are two of you?” Louie asked, staring at Lena with a smirk. Lena smacked him, albeit gently, more of a chastisement than because she wanted to hurt him. 

“Get your head out of the gutter, Llewellyn,” Lena scoffed. “They’re not here. I’d have sensed myself or another version of me. They must be in another parallel universe.”

“How is that possible?” Louie asked. “Besides being some weird magic thing.”

“That’s exactly what it is,” Lena said and rolled her eyes. “Some weird magic thing. Now, be quiet. I need to concentrate.”

Louie heeded her and she shut her eyes. She put her hands atop Lysander’s on the bars and began chanting something that he recognized vaguely as Latin. Warmth spread between them, the feeling of sitting in the sun on a pleasant summer’s day, and he could feel himself fading away, the pull of his own world stronger than this one.

As he felt himself vanishing, he heard Webby snap at Lena.

“What’s he doing here? Oh, never mind. Black Heron’s on the loose. She disabled the security and--” 

But Lysander didn’t hear the rest. The light blinded him and when he next stirred, he was lying on the hard, cold floor in the Other Bin. Beside him, Lena and Webby remained unconscious. The other Lena hadn’t been lying--they were elsewhere, wherever that was. The adults startled when they saw him.

“Looks like whatever it was didn’t have a lasting effect,” Scrooge remarked. Lysander glanced to spy Dewey, likewise stirring. Lysander frowned. He didn’t remember seeing him here earlier. Where had he come from? 

Lysander scowled. Oh, right, probably here to check on Webby. Webby had so many people who cared for her. She was so lucky. He hated her a little. Okay, more than a little. He’d always been jealous of her and seeing her surrounded by love only cemented it.

“What happened?” Mrs. Beakley snapped. “Why didn’t the girls wake up?”

“They weren’t with me,” Lysander said and then, in a weak voice, explained what the alternate Lena had told him about universes and not being physically present. Voice faltering, he described the universe he’d been in, down to Webby’s bizarre appearance and Dewey’s affliction. 

“That won’t happen here,” Mrs. Beakley said and her eyes flashed. She knelt at Webby’s side and her face was pinched. She was worried, regardless. What had happened there could happen here, for all they knew. Well, maybe not in its entirety. Lena and Louie had been closer there.

“Finally,” Scrooge huffed, bringing a dreamcatcher on a pole over to them. Lysander eyed it warily. “Maybe we can see what the lassies are dreaming of...and how to wake them.”

Lysander frowned deeper. He’d only woken because the alternate Lena had known he didn’t belong. If his guess was correct, then there wouldn’t be another Lena to help the girls out. They were on their own. 

“Come on, wake up,” Dewey said softly to Webby. 

“Oh, honey, I don’t think that’s going to work,” Della said gently.

“It didn’t work the first five times,” Louie remarked. “But, sure, sixth time’s the charm.”

“Louie!” Huey hissed.

“What? I’m just sayin’.”

“Let’s see what we shall see,” Scrooge said, ignoring his grand-nephew’s play by play. To Lysander’s surprise, the dreamcatcher didn’t resemble a normal one. It had knobs and dials atop and he spun a couple of them until an image presented itself before them. It looked like a projection. Scrooge whacked the dreamcatcher a few times until the image settled itself instead of looking like an old antenna broadcast.

Webby and Lena had their backs to the wall of a cell not dissimilar to the one Lysander had occupied. And they looked like they were in trouble.

* * *

“So much for Aunt Magica’s broomstick trick,” Lena grumbled. Steelbeak had approached their cell and, again, Webby kept Lena at her back. Her heart pounded. If Steelbeak harmed a feather on Lena’s head, Webby would go ballistic. She was shaking now thinking of how close she’d come to losing her. Her mind flashed back to Lysander, who had regained consciousness and was moaning on the floor. While she felt sorry for him, it wasn’t enough to invoke much sympathy. This version of Lysander had brought it on himself.

“I understand now that you two are a package deal,” Steelbeak said. Webby kept her eyes on him for any sudden tricks. Her father was full of them. A headache pulsed on the right side of her head and it reminded her of the headaches recalling her past had induced. She didn’t want to forget where she came from. Moreover, she didn’t want to forget Lena. 

“I’ll cut you a deal. You work for me and I’ll let her live. Maybe even team up with you on occasion. But you refuse…” Steelbeak shrugged. “I have no use for a traitorous shadow, capiche?”

“And I have no use for you,” Webby retorted. “Let us go or face the consequences.”

“You’re threatening me? That’s rich. I could’ve had you killed as a duckling. But I’m giving you one more shot to take it back. After all, I’m a fair guy. And I don’t wanna get my hands dirty, even if it’s a shadow and not a real person.”

“Lena’s real!” Webby snarled. 

“Pink, he has a point,” Lena murmured and Webby shook her head. She intertwined their fingers. She imagined she could feel Lena’s heartbeat racing against her palm. 

Webby glowered. She was stuck between a rock and a hard place. If she accepted Steelbeak’s offer, which was repugnant to her in every sense of the word, he might keep Lena safe. _Might. _There was no guarantee, not with Steelbeak. 

Conversely, if she refused him, he’d tried to kill Lena right now. Webby assessed her surroundings. The walls were too far apart to parkour over and the ceiling too low. The dank cell had no windows, only bars. There was nowhere to escape to. But she didn’t want to team up with someone who had erased her memories, forced himself on her mother, sent his goons after her, encouraged Black Heron to beat her to a pulp and then cheered when she killed her and it traumatized her…

She could go on. But she didn’t care to.

“What’s it going to be, Webs?” he sneered. He liked to call her that. He knew it got under her skin.

A rejection was already on her beak. But she had to think this through instead of reacting emotionally. Everything in her wanted to say “no”. It felt like it was wrong to agree.

“Don’t worry about me,” Lena murmured. “Worry about yourself. Do you really want to team up with this maniac?”

“What about Lysander?” Webby asked, stalling.

In response, Steelbeak pulled out a pistol and shot Lysander in the head. Lena swayed, blanching. Webby gulped, her knees weakening. Lena’s grip on her tightened. So those were the stakes. If she failed her father, he’d kill Lena. Magica had already said that bullets couldn’t kill a shadow. But there had to be other ways. After all, Magica had blasted Lena with her staff and relegated her to the shadow realm.

“Well? Time is money,” Steelbeak snapped.

Webby glared. “I hate you.”

Steelbeak had Magica’s staff, which had transformed into an amulet after the damage Webby had wreaked on it earlier. Lena’s eyes widened, though that might’ve been because she’d noticed the blood spatter and other things on the wall and floor. Webby was alarmed, but not surprised. Steelbeak could kill in cold blood. He usually chose not to because it created a mess.

“What’s it going to be, kiddo?”

“Webby!” 

Webby froze. That voice, which echoed around the cell, didn’t belong to anyone present. It was Agent 22. Her grandmother. Hope flooded her and she squeezed Lena’s hand. Maybe there was a third option.

“Granny!” she called. “Granny, we’re in here!” 

Steelbeak’s eyes narrowed and he fired off a shot at Lena. Webby pulled her out of the way in the nick of time. Her heart raced and the pounding in her head increased. Had Steelbeak heard Mrs. Beakley too? Or only Webby? Lena gave no indication that she’d heard, but then again, being shot at tended to be distracting.

“Decide. Now.” Steelbeak glowered.

If there was a third option, then Webby ought to bide her time. She nodded.

“Say it out loud,” he ordered.

“I’ll work with you,” she said, teeth gritted. 

“That’s better,” he said. She wanted to hurt him. 

“_Webby! Lena!” _Dewey this time. 

Stall for a little while longer, until she had this straightened out. She could do that. Her heart was in her throat and she held tightly to Lena. 

“What do you want me to do?” Webby said. And how soon could rescue come? Could they do it themselves?

“What are you playing at?” Lena whispered as Steelbeak unlocked their cell.

“Follow my lead,” Webby said.

Lena sighed and whispered back, “Don’t I always? Just try not to drive us off a cliff, pink.”

“I won’t,” she promised. But she didn’t know what she would have to do or how to stall just long enough to prevent an atrocity before Dewey and her grandmother came. She’d have to play it by ear.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is done, at least for now. I’m sorry if it feels like a rush job, but I did set things up for a sequel if I ever decide to write it. XD
> 
> I'm also losing interest in DuckTales. These hiatuses, man. They kill me.
> 
> I'm gonna dick around with FOP for a while. That's Fairly Oddparents. I miss it. XD

Someone or something was holding them captive in this realm. There was bleedthrough from their universe into this one, assuming this wasn’t just a nightmare world created from Webby’s and Lena’s worst fears. She needed to find the hook, the link between the two realms, to free them. Fighting against Steelbeak hadn’t produced anything worthwhile. Therefore, she needed to change tactics and go on the defensive.

Steelbeak let them out of their cell, albeit eyeing Lena warily for treachery. It was a good thing Lena trusted her so much, because Webby had only the bare bones of a strategy and it wouldn’t survive close scrutiny. In for a penny, in for a pound.

The headache might be part and parcel of her link to her world. But how to exploit that? Was the headache tethering her here? If so, did she need to exacerbate it to break whatever was holding her and their concentration? But, no, that didn’t sound right. Excruciating pain should never be the solution to a problem, unless the problem required pain, which no one needed.

What then? She scrutinized their surroundings to assess how similar this FOWL HQ was to the one in which she’d grown up. Everything seemed solid and normal, except if you took a closer look. Then the walls shimmered and grew translucent, revealing nothing behind them. What would happen if she rushed at them? Would the illusion fall apart? 

She needed a distraction. Otherwise, she might get away with charging the walls, but Lena wouldn’t. Steelbeak would capture her to “ensure Webby’s good behavior”. Damn, she hated her father. 

Her grandmother’s cries echoed in the labyrinth below the main offices. They had reached the stairs and she extended her arms out to either side. The stairwell was narrow and she should have been able to touch the walls with her fingertips. Instead, her fingers passed through thin air. Curiouser and curiouser. 

She patted her hips, where her knives rested. 

“Trust me,” she murmured to Lena, in case the last imperative hadn’t been enough. 

Lena opened her beak to reply, thought better of it, and clamped it shut. Instead, she nodded. Speaking would have brought Steelbeak’s attention to her when she least needed it. 

Winding up her throwing arm, hoping that she wasn’t about to make a mistake, as she’d never practiced throwing knives, she flung it hard at her father’s head. The blade spun end over end in the air and the girls held their breath. Webby reached for Lena’s hand; the older girl stood a step below her. Lena squeezed her hand tightly.

Steelbeak was above them, but he was within point-blank range. You’d have been hard-pressed to miss the shot with a gun, though there were any number of ways that a knife throw could go wrong. Bullets flew in milliseconds. There wasn’t much time to consider dodging them. At least, not if you’re caught by surprise. Knives, on the other hand, took longer to reach their target. If Steelbeak spun about at the wrong moment, they were sunk.

“What the hell—?” he started, hearing the knife whistling through the air. He turned, Webby’s heart clenched in her chest, and Lena gasped. Webby staggered back and would have fallen if Lena hadn’t caught her. Instead of hitting the back of his head like she’d planned, the knife had taken a different trajectory. It hit him right between the eyes with the blade first.

All three stood, stunned. Webby had forgotten to pull her throw, as she’d been trained to expend all necessary force to attack her opponents. Black Heron had taught her that. Black Heron was dead by her hands. And now…

“No, no, no, no,” Webby breathed. Her chest tightened and the air grew scarce. Was the air thinning in here or was it her? Spots swam before her eyes and she trembled. No, not again. She couldn’t handle this again. 

Was this a premonition? Was she destined to destroy FOWL and end up at its head? Was this how it all began? 

“Breathe, Webby!” Lena cried. Webby made a strangled attempt at a scream, but it got caught in her throat. 

Steelbeak, eyes still wide in surprise, toppled downward and straight into their path. Webby’s battle instincts took over and she yanked Lena out of the way. Her father fell end over end down the stairs until his body rested at the bottom. In the excitement, she’d almost forgotten the point of the diversion.

Her chest remained tight as she dragged Lena forward, away from the stairs and the broken body at the bottom. They broke through the wall that wasn’t there and Webby opened her eyes. She was still gasping for breath and shaking violently, but she wasn’t on her feet anymore. How odd.

Wren had cradled her in her arms and was rocking her back and forth. Webby shuddered, clinging to her mother. Louie, to Webby’s surprise, was by Lena’s side. Lena flinched and edged closer to Webby, who opened her arms to her too. The horror of the last few minutes hadn’t left either of them.

“Do you want me to dispose of the poltergeist or did you want a less permanent means to control it?” Mrs. Beakley snapped, clearly disapproving. Webby took in the tableau. Scrooge, her grandmother, the triplets, and Lysander were either gathered on the floor or lying on it. Webby’s gaze bypassed Lysander and deemed it unimportant. She wished her arms were big enough to encompass the triplets, Lena, her mother, and her grandmother at once.

“Er, I’ll take care of it,” Scrooge said and wilted under his housekeeper’s withering glare. “I will!”

“You left it in a place where children could wander in and look what happened,” Mrs. Beakley countered.

“I’ll look it up more securely next time,” he promised.

“You’d better,” Mrs. Beakley warned, the threat evident. 

Lysander gawked at Webby. “You’re in one piece. No cybernetic eye or hand.”

“I...wait, what?” Webby said. She closed her eyes and saw her father’s body fall down the stairs in slow motion. Her teeth chartered.

“Did it show us an alternate reality or just the stuff of nightmares?” Lena demanded.

“Er, well, that’s where things get a bit tricky,” Scrooge admitted. “It’s a possible future in a particular world. Sometimes they’re directly related to ours and sometimes they’re not.”

“And how are we supposed to tell the difference?” Webby snapped, pushing back her mounting hysteria. “Hope for the best?”

“These children have been through enough,” Mrs. Beakley said stiffly. “Come on. I’ll get you some blankets and hot cocoa.”

She glowered at Scrooge. “This isn’t over. Not by a long shot.”

“There really is a future where Webby loses her hand and eye and becomes the de facto head of FOWL?” Lysander asked and chills went down Webby’s spine. 

“I...I couldnae say, lad,” Scrooge said. His gaze landed on Webby.

“No, there isn’t, because we’ll keep her from it,” Dewey said staunchly. “We’ll protect her.”

“Are you all right?” Lena asked Webby in an undertone, over Dewey’s loud proclamations of right and power that he didn’t possess. Webby found that oddly charming, in an ineffective way.

“No,” Webby said honestly. “I’m not.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Huey asked, overhearing their conversation.

“As long as I don’t have to be the one to kill Steelbeak…” Webby said, but she didn’t know that for certain. The future was up in the air. Would killing Steelbeak guarantee she’d end up heading FOWL? The uncertainty was going to eat her alive. She needed to know more about the beast Scrooge had summoned.

To the library, Lena’s least favorite place, then. They might not have anything after all. She’d just have to wait and find out.

“Or end up with Dewey injured and you heading up FOWL,” Lysander provided and she glowered. 

That had better not happen, either of those two things. 

Lysander frowned. “I...I’m gonna do some soul searching...this isn’t how I thought it would be.”

“Which part?” Lena snapped. “The part about dragging Webby back into FOWL or joining Steelbeak?”

“Both,” Lysander admitted, looking chagrined. “I need to reevaluate my life choices.”

At least he had that cushion. Webby couldn’t rethink the choices she hadn’t made yet. Was she heading toward the same end in every universe? Was it inevitable, then? And what the hell had happened to Dewey and Lena in those universes? Was she destined to be alone?

Her heart clenched. This was leaving her with more questions than answers. And if she found the answers, she didn’t know whether she’d want them or if they’d lead her down the same path.

Did all roads lead to hell?

Her fear was mirrored on Lena’s face. 

“No, baby,” Wren said fiercely. “It’s not going to happen.”

“How can you say that?” Webby objected.

“Because I won’t let it,” she replied.

“And neither will we,” Dewey said fiercely.

“And if it does?” Webby asked, unable to conceal the anxiety in her voice.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, lass,” Scrooge said. “No sense worrying about it now. You’ll only make things worse.”

“But what if not worrying is what causes it to happen?” Huey said and Louie smacked him upside the head.

“Did you want to make things worse?” Louie demanded.

“There’s no way to tell,” Scrooge said fiercely. “Now, you lot should get some hot cocoa. I’ll talk to Beakley and Wren.”

Webby knew a dismissal when she heard one and let herself be shepherded out of the room. She was far from mollified, however. As far as she could tell, the sword of Damocles had just sunk a few inches closer to her neck.

* * *

And in a room in the Other Bin, for the first time in days, Steelbeak’s fingers twitched and he turned around in his chair. He was still moving slowly, not quickly enough to outrun anyone, but every day, he grew more in control of his movements and his speed accelerated. Soon enough, he’d leave the Other Bin behind. 

And then he’d reclaim what was his by right. One way or another.


End file.
